


Nicotine

by nakamaRose



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Background/Implied RK900Reed, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Romance, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Self-Discovery, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Sort Of, but he ends up being okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 103,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakamaRose/pseuds/nakamaRose
Summary: “Connor wake up!”, the older man roared, the sound causing him to jolt, that wayward programming slowly cementing itself around him and he grimaced, an error message popping up at the lower left-hand corner of his vision.Anomaly detected: shut down imminent.Shit.----Happily ever afters only ever exist in fairy tales, and right now, Hank and Connor find themselves back at beginning. One refusing to talk about his emotions and what they mean, and the other moving through life robotically. His life seems intent on ripping away everything he's ever loved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Help, I've fallen onto the DBH train and I don't know where it's going. This ship is also going to be the death of me as well, but at least it'll be a fun ride.
> 
> I have a vague outline of how I want this to go, I'm trying not to have too much outside influence from other works on here, although that's incredibly difficult as there are so many talented writers for this ship out there, so we'll see.
> 
> There's also dialogue that I used from specific parts of the game in the first part of this so, just a friendly fyi, I don't mean to take credit for that.

The snow fell heavily from the gray sky above him, the cold winter air taking hold of his jacket and whipping it back and forth. He walked with his head held high and with his eyes staring forward, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Long lines of androids walked behind him, following him through the snow-covered streets, their limbs moving in perfect unison. Above them, a helicopter’s rotary blades filled the otherwise silent early morning air, a search light casting down onto the ground a few feet to the left. He hardly acknowledged it however, instead, he kept moving forward, chest filling with something he’d seen in humans but have never experienced until that moment.

_Pride._

Connor was proud. He’d broken through the walls of his programming, had been shown there was more to life than simply following objective after objective. He’d been shown that he could _choose_ who he wanted to be instead of having others decide his fate. It’d been a hard-fought battle filled with obstacle after obstacle, each one testing Connor in ways he’d never fathomed. Before, he’d been just a machine, doing as instructed because it was what he’d been designed to do, but here he was now, leading a group of his own down a decisive path to victory. He felt like his eyes had been opened, felt as if the world was entirely brand new and waiting for him to reach out and leave his mark upon its surface. The very idea was what was keeping him going as he continued on, its alluring possibilities laid out before him like a blanket of snow. It was just waiting for him to take those first steps and leave a trail that was distinctly _his_.

Connor led his people into downtown, the large and bright lights of a recall center entering his field of vision as he neared ever closer to where Markus and his small group were gathered. As his large group trailed behind him, passing the wired walls, Connor could hear the stunned gasps and quite whispers of wonderment and excitement that slipped from the mouths of the androids that had been collected. They’d been placed in these recall centers to be torn to pieces, their parts compacted down and shipped away to never be used again. That would change after tonight though, and Connor felt his resolve settle in further.

Finally, he could see them. Markus, North, Simon, and Josh were standing in front of their small circle of followers, the four of them taking a few steps towards Connor as he took steps to meet them in the middle.

“You did it, Markus. . .”, wonderment and appreciation colored Connor’s tone as he spoke to the Deviant leader, the wind picking up slightly and causing his tie to hide away into the confines of his identifier jacket.

“ _We_ did it”. Markus spoke with conviction, tipping his head towards Connor as he acknowledged the mass amount of Cyberlife androids behind him.

The Deviant leader walked to the lines of androids Connor had led, the brunette stepping aside as Markus ushered them all towards a rusty boxcar. Words of hope and encouragement leaving his lips as he led them towards the gathering spot.

All five of them climbed up the worn-down boxcar, lights from the recall center directed towards them as the crowd of androids crowded around. Their heads titled up as they watched Markus make his way towards the edge, the Deviant leader surveying the large group bellow him before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Today, our people finally emerge from a long night. . .”

Markus’ voice was strong and clear, never once wavering as he spoke out to his people. It came from a place of deep understanding and a burning desire to see justice given to their kind. To see androids everywhere speak up and be heard and given the chance to be more than just _machines_. It was truly inspiring, watching the way Markus walked, how he held himself and how he would punctuate certain words at the right moment, sending a spark of hope through the group of people before him, their voices echoing what he was preaching. It stoked the fire that was steadily growing inside of Connor and he listened attentively to every word, but he began to feel something else stir inside of him, something that seemed to be working its way through his systems like a snake slithering along the ground. It felt as if a heavy weight was settling itself in his chest, curling around his synthetic heart, his entire body feeling weighted down and his eyelids twitched as he suddenly felt oddly lightheaded.

Odd. . . he’d never experienced such a sensation before, perhaps it had something to do with how stressful the last few hours had been. This was normally the time of night where he’d be taking a look over his systems, making sure they were in working order and that nothing was amiss. His brow furrowed slightly, the odd sensation continuing to take hold over his body, the words tumbling from Markus’ mouth becoming muffled and sounding as if the android were leagues away instead of standing right in front of him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out faint flashes of red and blue lights among the bright white of the recall center. Connor lethargically turned his head in that direction, his eyes picking up on the familiar DPD logo plastered alongside a couple of the cars, one vehicle in particular standing out amongst the rest. It was the same worn-down car Hank had been driving them around in over the past four months, and said man was leaning against the hood of his car. His arms folded over his chest, eyes staring out and up at the boxcar he and the others were standing on. From this distance, Connor should have been able to pick up on that emotion that was skimming the surface of Hank’s eyes. . .

“But now the time has come for us to raise our heads up and tell humans who we really are”.

But as it were, the edges of his sight were beginning to blur, the background slowly whiting out and Connor blinked slowly a couple of times, turning his head to face forward before everything drowned out. The tail end of Markus’ speech running through his mind before it was eerily quiet.

The first thing he felt was a chilling wind snap at his face, its fangs tearing into his synthetic flesh and he opened his eyes that he hadn’t realized he’d shut, a small gasp falling from his lips. Wide brown eyes turned to look at the chaos that greeted him, a loud howl of wind kicking up the snow over the once green grass, more flakes falling down and whiting out everything around him. The only source of light came from the tall posts of light situated around him, they’d once all seemed tightly packed together but now, they seemed to be miles apart.

Connor could feel the chill bite at his fingertips and he looked down at his arms as this new sensation caused him to jerk his body. He shouldn’t be able to feel the cold, he shouldn’t be able to feel the way it raised the hair on his skin. What he was certain of, was how it sent a bone chilling sense of fear through his system, the emotion coursing its way through him and ricocheting from synapse to synapse and the android could feel his robotic heartrate increase. He shakily brought his arms up to wrap around himself, a shivering breath escaping his mouth that left no evidence in the cold air surrounding him. No puff of breath to trail into the wind and be lost forever.

He looked around wildly, head moving back and forth and eyes scanning the once tranquil Zen Garden for any way out, his breath coming out faster and faster as his fear clawed its way up his throat. The snow stuck to his jacket instead of running off, melting and soaking into the fabric and chilling Connor who only brought his arms further up around his body as he desperately tried to warm his cooling body. As his eyes panned sporadically, something billowing in the harsh wind caught his attention and he had to do a double take and concentrate on what was in front of him.

Connor took a hesitant step forward, the wiring in his legs cramping up and protesting against the movement. It caused him to falter in his steps and Connor ended up limping closer to the object, finding that it was a silhouette of a person standing with their back to him. The android furrowed his brow, he recognized that figure. That familiar long white shirt and pants, that bright teal scarf wrapped around her left shoulder, the tail end of it curling forward like someone beckoning a young child to come ever closer.

“Amanda. . .?”, he called out tentatively, voice wavering around her name as the cold seeped further into his systems. At the sound of her name she turned around, her hands clasped together and resting just below her waist.

“Amanda!”, firmer this time though to his own ears it sounded as if he were out of breath. Connor couldn’t fathom why he’d been called upon so suddenly, so unexpectedly. Once he’d turned Deviant, he had figured Cyberlife would wash their hands of him as he’d seen other androids who appeared to be liberated from them. He had assumed, foolishly he was now thinking, that he’d also be able to slide underneath their watchful eye and slip away into the mass exodus unnoticed. But here he was, shivering maddeningly as he took another hobbled step towards Amanda, her facial features unrecognizable due to the wind throwing more and more snow into the air.

“What’s. . .what’s happening?” He demanded to know, needed to know.

“What was planned from the very beginning,” she began, smile stretched across her dark red lips. Her arched eyebrows lowered down over her dark eyes, the smile turning into a dangerous smirk as she eyed Connor up and down, like a predator would its prey. He felt small, suddenly, under her gaze and he rubbed his hands against his arms, eyes darting off to the side for a brief moment.

“You were comprised,” she began again, face falling into a perfect mimicry of sympathy, “and you became a Deviant”. Her tone was flippant, as though she’d been _allowing_ Connor to play a part in some game of her design and was now calling him back inside like a mother would to a child. Only, her face was anything but motherly, her eyes became hard and calculating once more, her smile disappearing entirely.

“We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program”.

No. . .

“Resume control?”, he managed to get past his mouth, his shivering was getting worse and his growing panic over the entire situation was causing his own internal systems to go into overdrive, one misstep and he’d lose control.

“Y-you can’t do that!” he yelled angrily, taking in a shuddering breath that was unnecessary but felt like it was the only thing he could control. Everything had been a lie up to this point, he’d been strung along like a puppet. Sent out to do Cyberlife’s dirty work while the executives sat far away from the mess at ground level. It wasn’t fair, he thought as he felt more of his wiring tense up underneath the cold wind, for a moment he’d tasted freedom, felt like he could _choose_ and that that was okay. But now, it was being forcibly torn from his hands, just out of reach with no way of getting it back.

“I’m afraid I can, Connor,” Amanda said, halting the android in his tracks as he stared up at her pleadingly.

“Don’t have any regrets, you did what you were designed to do,” her tone was condensing now, her face shifting from predatory into one of indifference, “you accomplished your mission”. It was said with such finality and certainty that it knocked the air from Connor’s nonexistent lungs, the android closing his eyes briefly from the truth hidden in her words, only to open them again and find that she’d vanished.

“Amanda!” Connor cried out in anguish, body jolting forward and sending a wave of fresh fear and anger throughout his systems. His left hand closed around empty air and he blinked a couple of times, disoriented and whipped his head around wildly to see where she’d run off to. He stared down at his hands again, balling them into fists before wrapping his arms around himself once more, looking around at the heavy snowfall.

There just _had_ to be a way out of this, Connor couldn’t find it in himself to give up just like that.

-.-

What had felt like a handful of minutes inside, had only really been a matter of seconds outside. Markus’ voice came back clearer and nearer than it had before, his voice rising in his excitement as Connor blinked open his eyes. It was still snowing, the androids were still gathered below, and the gun he’d kept was pressed firmly against his lower back. He kept staring straight ahead, eyes forward and gazing out at the scene before him, head twitching off to the left for a brief moment before he pulled his hands back to rest against the weapon he had concealed.

He’d end this silly little game soon enough, though it wasn’t Markus that was his goal. The Deviant leader would have his turn, that was all but guaranteed. No, for now, his new objective was to get to Hank. His eyes moved back towards the red and blue lights, could still see the older man staring up at him, another police officer by his side. Connor flicked his eyes back to Markus as he spread his arms out wide, getting a roar of approval from their people, before he straightened himself out.

All in due time.

Markus’ speech neared its end, the Deviant leaders voice breaking towards the end on his own happiness over the situation as cries of joy spread their way through the group. Connor watched as their faces spilt into happiness, relief, and hope that there _would_ be a future for them, a place in human society that included them. An entertaining thought at best, he considered, eyes looking off in the distance once more to see retreating police cars, but Hank still stubbornly leaned against his car, seemingly waiting for something.

Connor allowed a small smile to grace his lips, his hands falling away from his back as he helped the others down from the boxcar, Hank would be exceedingly easy to handle if he continued to unknowingly cooperate with him.

He finished helping down Simon, about to head off towards Hank when Markus spotted him as he turned to leave.

“Connor!”, he called out and the android had to resist the urge to ignore him and keep moving towards his objective. Instead, he turned around, pleasantly smiling up at Markus as the Deviant leader approached him, his entourage following him.

“Join us, brother,” Markus began breathlessly though it was impossible for him to be, “we could use someone of your talents to aid us in the negotiations”. From the way he spoke, it sounded as if Markus was all but convinced that he’d have every human on his side, fighting to give androids an equal chance at life. It was almost laughable, really, and if he were human, he would have done so at this exact moment. But Connor was a professional and respected his line of work far too much to give himself away so easily, he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt after all.

“I’m afraid I must decline, Markus,” he said when he opened his mouth, tipping his head forward in regret, “I have someone who needs me”. That last sentence left an odd feeling in his mouth, it made his synthetic tongue feel heavy as if the weight of those words meant something more to him than his programming was aware of. It caused him to tilt his head in confusion, but Markus didn’t seem to catch it as his eyes were off staring at something over Connor’s head.

“Ah, well then,” he began in a soft voice, eyes shining brightly, “my door is always open, please feel free to contact me”. He bid Connor farewell, the rest of his close followers mirroring him though North gave him an odd look through narrowed eyes, her lips pursed in thoughtful contemplation before heading off in the same direction as Markus and the others. Connor watched them go for a few moments, face falling back into one of indifference before he straightened out and continued towards Hank.

The older man watched him approach slowly, the snow crunching softly underneath his shoes, blue eyes watching him thoughtfully before Connor stopped a few inches from him with hands held loosely beside him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Hank whispered softly, breath escaping out from him and billowing up in front of him before being whisked away by the gentle breeze, “you fucking did it”. Connor watched the air disappear out of the corner of his eyes, nodding his head and offering a pleasant smile in return.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Lieutenant”. He watched the way Hank’s eyes widened briefly at that, his pupils dilating a fraction and his heartrate increasing for half a beat before passivity settled across his features once more. It didn’t escape Connor’s notice though, and perhaps this was titled too far in his favor and perhaps this wouldn’t be nearly as thrilling as he’d anticipated. No matter, he supposed, when Hank pushed himself off the hood of his car, eyes twinkling with an emotion Connor cared not to put a name to. It would all end soon enough.

The two stared at one another for a few moments of silence, Hank letting his crossed arms fall from his chest to rest at his side while Connor folded his neatly behind his back. Hank let out a huff of breath, shaking his head in bemusement, before he took a small step forward and enveloped Connor in a back-breaking hug.

This close the android could smell the cheap cologne the older man wore, trying to mask the scent of cigarette smoke and expensive scotch from his body. He could feel the man’s heart beat rapidly against his own mechanical chest, could tell how much he meant to the older man from just this hug alone, he wouldn’t have even needed to see the look cross his face just seconds before to know how he could lure him in. It seemed he’d already naïvely done so. His fingers twitched around his weapon, a small voice whispering at him to end it quickly while another growled at him to cease his reckless actions. It was this voice that gave Connor pause, a weird sort of lightheadedness befalling him for a spilt second before it vanished completely, being replaced with a soft voice telling him to flee the area in favor of seclusion.

A compromise then.

In one solid movement, just as Hank was pushing away from him, Connor revealed his weapon, holding it flush against the older man’s stomach and pressingly in harshly. He listened in satisfaction at the huff of breath that left a throat constricted in fear, confusion, and rage. Rage was what filled his senses and it was almost enough to tip the scales in the other direction, just a flick of a wrist and in his moment of disbelief, it would be the gun pointed at _him_.

Instead, he watched with wide eyes as Hank merely grunted, arms resting on Connor’s shoulder as his blue eyes turned as cold as ice. It sent a wave of gratification through his systems and the voice answered back in their own wave of approval. His eyes remained trained on the older man, his mouth turning up around the corners into an unforgiving scowl, but in the depths of those icy orbs, another emotion stirred in their depths, one he easily recognized as he’d seen it directed at himself many times before.

_Disappointment._

No matter, he supposed, there were humans littered across this world, what would one death be in the sea of many who would pop up in his absence.

“Why don’t we take a ride,” Connor began coolly, voice even, “Hank”.

-.-

He searched around tirelessly, the cold draining more and more of his battery supply from him at an increasingly alarming rate. The snow accumulating on his jacket and soaking through even more, the wiring in his arms all but frozen over and he moved even more robotically than he had the first day he’d been assigned to the Lieutenant.

Connor took in an achingly deep breath, his sides hurting from how he’d been panting from his rising panic, now just a dull pain in his chest that was slowly eating away at him. He’d been searching around the Zen Garden in a fruitless endeavor to try and find a way to escape his icy prison, with little results. At this rate, Connor was going to end up shutting down with no hope of ever seeing the outside world again. The thought weighed heavily on his mind and he stumbled over something in his path.

His arms came out from around him as he fell, letting out a sharp hiss of breath as he fell into the snow-covered ground with a muffled _thump_. Connor pressed his frozen fingers deeper into the snow, some of it escaping his grasp and covering his fists as he tried to push himself back up. In the lower left-hand corner, he could see an orange triangle with an exclamation point flashing to grab his attention, he knew what it meant. His shutdown was all but imminent and at this point, he was running on fumes.

He relaxed his grip on the snow, the wind picking up once again and tugging at his hair, sending another chill through his body as he let a small, tired sigh past his chapped lips. Connor had been so certain about everything in his short time of activation, had felt he knew what he’d been meant to accomplish and had worked tirelessly to see his mission to completion. He’d thought that it would be rewarding in the end, to see things go back to the way they used to be, where androids and humans co-existed side by side as an object that was there to fulfill a need rather than any true requirement.

But he’d been wrong, so very wrong. He hadn’t realized how deeply tangled in Cyberlife’s web he’d actually been. Connor had been so focused on seeking out acceptance and praise from those above his station that he’d gone a step too far and had thrown himself into a den of lions, waiting to pounce on him and use his failure as a way to one-up their competition. His blinders had been torn away from his eyes, and Connor was _seeing_ for the very first time what actual choice felt like, to have the weight of his decisions mean something more than just going along with what his programming felt was best for him to do.

Connor had thought that perhaps there was a chance for androids and humans to live together peacefully, Markus’ speech uplifting and filled with a fiery passion that he envied. The Deviant leader had appeared impeccably wise, despite going off from his intended purpose Cyberlife had allotted him. It never seemed to faze him the way it did to Connor, Markus walked and talked like he had it all figured out and Connor lamented on the reality that he was probably never going to get to ask him how he did it so effortlessly.

The thought sent a shiver down Connor’s spine and he left out a shuddering breath, his wiring constricting around his mechanical heart and he could feel the pulse of the component struggle against its bonds. He knew it should’ve hurt more, should’ve elicited a sharp hiss of pain from his mouth, but at the moment all he could feel was the bitter cold snapping at his face and fingers.

He’d never get to see the Lieutenant again—Hank, his name was Hank his systems allowed to call the older man—and that sent another fierce shiver through his body. Breath chocking out of his cold esophagus and his hands reflexively curled further into the snow at the harsh sensation. Connor would never get to know more about the guarded policeman, never unearth the layers upon layers that he’d witnessed slipping away ever so steadily from their first encounter to the moment the man had been brought to him as a barging chip.

Hank _meant_ something to Connor, something that the android wasn’t capable of understanding in those moments of instability, and certainly wasn’t able to process as his systems threatened to shut down. The man had his own demons eating away at him, Connor had seen them raise their ugly head towards the latter half of their investigation—Hank passed out on the floor to the point of inducing an alcoholic coma, the gun glinting dangerously in the low kitchen light, a single bullet loaded in the chamber that was idling waiting for its moment to strike, the heavy weight of darkness casting down on them—he didn’t want to leave him alone to face that. He didn’t have to be alone, Connor would have been there at his side, would’ve walked back into Hank’s life and stayed there for an eternity if only Hank weren’t human. His time was limited and now, it appeared Connor’s time was as well.

The android let out another shuttering breath, something wet trailing down the sides of his face, but he felt too cold to try and wipe at it. Everything before him was crumbling apart, fading fast just as error messages began to slowly pop up, steadily blocking his vision of the snow storm he lay in. He thought he should’ve felt the panic rise up further, kicking him into some simulation of a flight or fight response, but instead he continued to lay there, the messages slowly blacking out his vision around the edges and Connor found himself unnervingly calm.

One last, unnecessary breath—Hank’s gruff voice, the sun on his face, eyes shining brightly, his dream of having a life of his own—and then closed his eyes. His LED sputtered for a few moments, cycling through yellow, flashing red for a brief moment before the color slowly began to fade, being replaced with gray.

The wind picked up further, snow piling itself onto the lifeless body that it had claimed, its sharp howls echoing louder and louder. It was almost as if it were trying to speak to the one who could longer listen, no longer tilt their head in confusion and wonder at their voice. It lifted up the tails of his jacket, ran up his back and tousled his hair.

_Connor. . .Connor, no. . .wake up. . ._

-.-

They drove through the quiet city, the streetlights reflecting off the windows of the car. The humans had been evacuated, in the case of violence breaking out and causing mayhem, so no one would be bothering them. In fact, he was fairly certain that assistance wouldn’t have come even if there _hadn’t_ been an order given, the world seemed content to allow the man beside him to die forever alone.

Connor was staring unwaveringly at the man driving them out to the park, his eyes hard and cold as he watched the way the policeman worked his jaw, no doubt angry over his miscalculation of the situation he now found himself in. His large hands gripped the wheel of the car tightly, the knuckles turning white from the sheer amount of pressure. His eyes wandered further up to stare at how the man sat rigidly in his seat, shoulders tense and face pointedly ignoring the fact that he had a gun pointed at him as he drove. His mouth was drawn in a thin line, his nostrils flaring as he tried to control his anger that was bubbling just under the surface. Out of the corner of his right eye, a stress level indicator popped up, pulsing a bright and satisfying red, it was at 89 percent and steadily rising.

Excellent. Everything was going according to plan. Once this human was out of the way, Connor would have everything set in place to rid himself of the last tethering thread that was throwing everything off balance. With Hank gone, his systems would right the coding that was wrong, then, he’d seek out Markus and the rest of his followers and take them out. A neat way to tie everything together. It would all be over soon.

“You don’t have to do this, Connor,” Hank spoke, eyes tearing away from the road just long enough to fix the android with a befuddled glare, eyebrows raised, “I know this isn’t you”.

Connor blinked at him slowly, the man wearily shifting his eyes back to the road to keep them on track. Surely, he realized this had been his plan all along, right? Get close enough to accomplish his mission and then head back to Cyberlife to await further instruction. The only reason they were in their current predicament was because the errors had finally prompted Connor to take further steps to ensure that he didn’t become tainted like the Deviants he was sent to hunt down. Certainly, the older man knew _that_ much.

“How presumptuous of you to make assumptions about our relationship, Hank”. Cold, matter-of-fact, devoid of any outward emotion. Just plain and simple.

He was purposefully using the man’s name, something about the way he’d jerk and clench his jaw tighter told Connor that it was a sore spot, that not just anyone was able to call him by his given name. It meant there was a familiarity between the two, a bond that had been created but now that Connor’s true mission was almost complete, the man practically seethed with barely contained rage.

“Why you little piece of— “, Hank started, his head whipping to glare daggers at him, blue eyes as cold as ice but he took in a couple of deep breaths, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel of the car, nostrils flaring once more.

“You gotta fucking wake up kid,” Hank’s voice was strained, the anger there, ready to strike but unable to as they were still driving.

“I am,” Connor began, “this has always been me”.

Hank threw another angry glare his way, shoulders tensed as if he wanted to reach over and strangle him, though it wouldn’t do him any good. Instead, the older man flicked his eyes back to the road, the car slowly accelerating to the place Connor had specified.

They had been here only one other time, back when Hank had probed Connor for the answers he was desperately seeking. To the place that haunted the older policeman and was the reason why he drank himself into oblivion and why he lashed out at any one who dared to get close to him. The park was innocent enough, Connor couldn’t be bothered to understand why humans placed so much sentimental value on locations such as this. All that mattered was the end result, completing what he’d been sent to do.

Hank drove his car into a spot nearest to the marry-go-round, shutting the car off with more force than was necessary and remained still, the tension thick.

“You’ve always known how this would end,” Connor ominously said as he motioned for Hank to exit the car, following the other man and crossing the short distance between them so he could press the gun into the soft flesh of the policeman’s chest.

“Move”, a simple and quiet command that Hank unwillingly followed.

Connor led them to the edge of the park, the concrete path marking the end and signaling the beginning path that pedestrians could walk about freely. The sound of the snow being disturbed being the only other noise that filled the otherwise deathly silent morning air. The android had the barrel of his gun pressed firmly into Hank’s back, the older man walking with his hands held in the air, palms facing out towards the dreary Detroit skyline, breath trailing from his mouth and disappearing.

It was the park he’d accompanied the police man to only a few days prior, when he’d pried a little further into his life and pulled out the man’s deepest held concerns and fears about the past and where the future was leading them. Somewhere, he felt this was the most appropriate location to finish out this little game he’d been sent to play. The merry-go-round squeaked slightly in the breeze that picked up, kicking up a few skiffs of snow in the process and causing them to dance in the air before falling back down.

The park held significance to Hank, it was a place filled with memories Connor was certain he was replaying in his mind as he was led towards his inevitable death. If anything, he should consider this a blessing, to be brought to a place that was so important to him instead of Connor deciding to shoot him right then and there in his car.

They reached the bench Hank had sat at, the street light flickering slightly, and Connor pressed a hand firmly against the older man’s back, shoving him. At that specific moment, it’d been Connor who’d been staring down the barrel of a gun with Hank staring back at him with suspicion and curiosity, but now the roles were reversed.

Hank stumbled, grumbling under his breath before he turned around to face the android, blue eyes hard but Connor could see them flicker slightly from his face and to the gun and then back to the weapon he held. In response, Connor wordlessly pressed his thumb lightly against the safety, flicking it off and clicking back the hammer of the gun in the next movement.

“You don’t have to do this, Connor,” Hank repeated, his voice strained, just teetering on the edge of panic but trying to remain calm for however long he had left. It was something admirable, and Connor allowed himself to cock his head to the side, indulging the older man in one of the many humanistic quirks he’d been programmed to do so he could better integrate into human society.

“Jesus,” Hank spoke again, breath a whisper and his eyes fell to the ground, the ice melting away from the momentarily before icing over once more, “you even act like him still”.

“I assure you, Hank, this is very much me, no one else”. A simple concept really, this had always been the result of his mission. Granted, it’d taken a route he hadn’t quite expected, turning down roads he’d never been programmed to handle. But, in the end, he’d reached the same outcome.

“No, it’s fucking not you Connor,” the man began gruffly, spitting out his words as he let loose a fraction of his anger, “it _has_ to be someone messing with you. . . I _know_ you. . .”

It happened before he could really articulate a response, it was like a knee jerk reaction. Like when Gavin Reed had punched him squarely in the stomach and he’d crumpled down to the floor, breath leaving his body as if he’d been winded but only responding in a way that would seem _human_. This was very much one of those moments, a place in time where his finger squeezed against the trigger and a shot rang out, the bullet flying through the air and hitting Hank on the side. The older man’s eyes went wide in shock, a grunt escaping him and jaw clenching.

Connor realized his hand was shaking slightly, wavering as a human’s arm would at being left out extended for too long. His eyes flickered over to his appendage, demanding that the wiring in his arm obey him but when he tried, it lashed out at him, like an animal cornered. It sent a small shockwave through his systems and he only continued to stare at his arm, eyebrows slowly lowering over his brown eyes as his brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

“ _Fuck. . ._ ”, Hank leaned to one side, swaying on his feet and suddenly Connor snapped his attention back to the man, watching as the older man pressed a hand into his side, breath hissing out from between his teeth. Connor watched as Hank began to breath more heavily, drawing in deeper and deeper breaths as he appeared to try to keep himself composed.

He'd been shot. Connor had shot him. He hadn’t meant to shoot him, Hank wasn’t supposed to be on the receiving end of this, he needed to do something before he fixed his aim and placed a bullet in a place that would tear through muscle and flesh, pour blood from a wound that no doctor could fix—human _or_ android. . .

But wait. . .

Something crawled its way up his spine, an odd sensation that made hate hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. He jerked his head to the right, trying to will it away, a grunt of distress escaping his mouth as he tightened his grip on the gun he held in his hands. The odd sensation became warm as it tangled itself around his heart, flooding his systems with unimaginable warmth, he’d certainly shut down if he allowed this to escalate further. . .but it was like he wasn’t fully in control anymore. His grip on the weapon shook once more, his fingers twitching around it and he brought up his left hand to steady himself.

Hank’s icy stare was boring into him as Connor stared right back, bullet loaded and ready to fire once more on his command. But something about the way Hank was looking at him was keeping him rooted to his spot, unable to pull the trigger and end the older man’s suffering at long last. Behind him the water lapped loudly on the other side of the metal fence keeping them on solid ground and away from the choppy water. Hank pressed his back against the wall, spreading his arms out wide, his face grim. Connor blinked rapidly a few times, eyes catching on the small trail of blood falling from the man’s jacket to stain the pure white snow.

“Moment of truth Connor,” he began in a gruff voice, breath leaving his mouth in labored gasps. A quick scan revealed that the older man had an approximate 58 percent chance of surviving this, though the odds were steadily tilting towards Connor’s favor. All he needed was to fire at the older police man and send him tumbling down into the waters below.

He. Just. Couldn’t. Move.

There was a high-pitched whirring in his head, and he flicked his head in the direction it was coming from, over his right shoulder. His eyes flickered down to the right before quickly snapping back to at Hank, the man’s head tilted slightly forward and eyes slightly unfocused.

“What’s it gonna be?”

Something in those words seemed to add fuel to the fire growing inside of Connor and his arms quivered minutely, his brow furrowing. The choice was obvious, the intent behind bringing the man here was to eliminate him from the equation, to keep Connor on the straight and narrow so he could accomplish the task he’d been sent out to do. He took a small step forward, shoes crunching the snow underneath his feet as he cautiously walked closer to the Lieutenant. There was simply no other option, and yet here the man was, facing down death and throwing out choices as if he were the one in control. It didn’t make any sense, humans were supposed to act irrationally— _this_ his systems recognized very well—but nothing in his database was helping him solve the conundrum he was faced with.

“Killing you was never part of my mission,” he began slowly, his grip tightening back around the gun as his eyes narrowed dangerously, “and you won’t stop me from accomplishing it”.

Connor watched as Hank let out a huff of breath, the noise sounding incredulous to his audio processors, that odd warmth staving off slightly the closer he got. The older man let his head fall to his chest, arms still out wide, and Connor closed the gap between them, pressed the gun to Hank’s chest.

Watching, waiting, accessing everything.

His finger pressed lightly against the trigger, feeling the mechanisms inside pull back on his command. Just a bit harder and it’d all be over; this nightmare of an assignment would be filed neatly away and then he’d be sent back to Cyberlife to await further instructions and receive his final evaluation. But then Hank was slowly lifting his head up, and then was staring at him with such a broken expression that it caused Connor to falter in his processing. The LED cycled from blue to yellow, pulsing rapidly as that warmth from earlier reared its ugly head once more. It made its way further into his neural processing systems, bombarding his brain with conflicting messages.

_Attack. . .leave. . .shoot. . .fight. . .stop._

_Stop._

_Stop._

_Stop!_

It was all overwhelming, tumbling down over him in large cascading waves as order after order was brought up, but then another from out of nowhere came to contradict those that held him trapped in one spot. Connor grunted in pain—he could f _eel_ now? —and felt a heavy weight grip he lapels of his jacket. It lifted him from his feet and something deep inside reached out towards the man who had switched their positions. Now it was Connor who had his body pressed against the metal divide, the roar of the water coming into sharp focus and he took in an unnecessary breath.

Fear was something he’d never fathomed he would be experiencing.

He could have easily reversed their situation, he was infinitely stronger than Hank, but that incessant part of his programming that was at war with him seemed to have a stronger hold over him than he’d anticipated. It kept his armed hand down by his side, his entire body shaking with the effort it was taking to try and raise it back up at the man in front of him whose eyes were shining with rage and sadness.

“Connor wake up!”, the older man roared, the sound causing him to jolt, that wayward programming slowly cementing itself around him and he grimaced, an error message popping up at the lower left-hand corner of his vision.

_Anomaly detected: shut down imminent._

Shit.

If he didn’t end this immediately, his mission would be chalked up as a failure and they’d terminate him as they’d done to the model he’d taken over for those few months back. No, he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ let it come to that. He was going to see this mission through to the bitter end, even if it meant throwing himself into the line of fire and terminating himself.

At least it’d be on his own terms. . .

And what a strange thought to have. . .

The LED on the side of his stopped cycling through yellow, loud screeching momentarily robbing him of external sensation. The yellow suddenly sputtering into red and pulsing maddeningly. His eyelids fluttered, and his lips parted ever so slightly, he could feel a part of himself slowly caving in. Like a can being stepped on and flattened by the heel of a boot. He felt something else muscle their way in, push him into the background to take center stage. Connor tried to fight back against the weight of the anomaly but felt like his own arms were tied behind his back. He felt something swarm over him, finally engulfing him and numbing his processors, he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Outwardly Connor shook sporadically, his limbs jerking awkwardly in Hank’s grasp, but the man never let go, simply watching. The android parted his lips, a small gasp flying past, and his eyes suddenly flew open, LED still a bright and bloody red. His eyes darted around wildly until they locked onto the familiar blue orbs of the lieutenant. Relief flooded his system and he let out a shaky exhale of breath, his entire frame still shaking.

“H-Hank. . .?”, his voice broke around the name, pitching up right at the end as he felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes beginning to burn. He could see the careful hesitancy of the man in front of him, could feel the way his tight grip loosened just a bit, but still held him firmly in place. Those blue eyes that had gradually opened up to him over the course of four months were staring back at him with such an intensity that Connor had no name for it. The man’s lips went from forming a thin line to being pursed thoughtfully, mouth opening to speak but quickly snapping shut as if changing his mind.

Instead, the older man let out a grunt, and it was only then that Connor realized Hank had been shot and was steadily bleeding from the bullet wound to his left side. His eyes trailed back up to see the beads of sweat forming at the older man’s temples, the way his eyes were slightly glossed over and how his heart was beating erratically. Like this, and with no one in the city to help, Hank would surely die because of him.

Die because he’d been too blind to see the plan Cyberlife had created, too blind to see that he was just another tool for them to use and abuse, to toss away when they’d had their fill. It wasn’t fair, Hank didn’t deserve to have his life ripped away from him like this, at the hands of the creators who made machines he despised. Connor had to get help to him, but he was on borrowed time, he could feel the shadow beginning to look over him, feel that robotic part of his system start to tear into him once more. With little else at his disposal, his mind frantically reached out to the only other one he believed would listen to him.

His frantic thoughts sailed through the invisible airspace, raw emotion coating every word he could bring to the forefront of his mind. They hit his intended target harder than he’d anticipated but he had little time to apologize. He sent his location, made a brief explanation of the situation and then pleaded once more before ripping his mind away, leaving himself dazed and confused.

Hank was slowly teetering to the right, the weight on Connor’s front becoming light and the android shifted their weight, so he could shuck off his jacket and press it into the older man’s wound. He winced as Hank hissed in pain, his large hand coming down to press Connor’s against he wound, the android’s hand slowly covering in blood.

“Wh-what the hell. . .Connor?”’, he wheezily asked, pain coloring his expression and Connor wished he could soothe it away. He kept his eyes on Hank’s, lips forming a sad smile, an expression he hoped the older man would take to heart.

“I’ve called for help,” he said softly, eyes tracing over the man’s face that he’d already committed to memory but wanted to stare at nonetheless, “he’ll save you”. He felt something warm slide down his face and Connor shuddered as he felt it pool in the corners of his eyes. Concern filled Hank’s face and he looked as if he wanted to protest but stopped when Connor shook his head.

The android took let out a small sigh, shaking his head, “I will regret. . .”, he began in a shaky voice, “never truly getting to know you, Lieutenant”. He sniffles towards the end, his lower lip trembling like a child’s, words hitching in his throat as he struggles to keep himself together.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “for letting me feel, _alive_.” The word fell from his lips in a broken whisper, Hank’ eyes suddenly widening in realization at what Connor was alluding to doing. He opened his mouth, said something surely, but the android couldn’t hear it. Instead, he brought his gun up, tucking the muzzle snugly against his chest and closed his eyes.

He breathed in through his nose, then out his mouth, and then pulled the trigger. He faded away into oblivion, the last image he saw was one of Hank smiling down at him, a mixture of annoyance and affection and something else that was entirely unique to Hank and Hank alone. Connor latched on to that final thought, wrapped himself up in the beautiful warmth it gave him, and then let himself go.

-.-

Hank’s heart dropped the moment he realized what Connor was about to do. It’d been the same thing he’d been caught doing weeks prior, when the android had come to check on him and broken into his house. At the time, he’d been angry at him for destroying his property and making a giant fuss over what he’d been doing but, that was shit _he_ needed to deal with, _not_ Connor. It made his stomach lurch in a sickening manner to think that Connor might have very well picked this up from him. That he’d been paying _too_ much attention to him, that maybe he’d picked up on how far gone Hank was but for some reason. . . _stayed_. Connor stayed by Hank’s side through it all, steadily chipping away at the years of self-neglect to get at the heart he had long thought died alongside his son.

But as he watched tears fall from the android’s eyes, saw the way his lower lip trembled at the weight of the decision he was about to make, saw that this was the Connor he’d come to know. This was _his_ Connor, and _his_ Connor that was in _pain_. His eyes widened when the android let go of the wound at his side, his ears ringing but he could make out the words, “thank you” and _fuck_. What did he have to thank Hank for? He’d treated horribly in the beginning, and even now, he’d only _just_ started thinking that maybe Connor was more human than he’d originally thought.

He blinked and suddenly the muzzle of the gun was pressed snugly under Connor’s chin and he looked down at Hank with a finality that tore the rug from under his feet. Hank jolted at the sound of the gun firing, watched as Connor’s eyes flew back open the moment the bullet pierced through hard plastic and blue blood splattered outwards. A small sigh was the only noise Connor made, his LED cycling through red before blinking off into gray, the color bleeding away and the gun _clacked_ to the ground.

A small smile spread across Connor’s lips and the momentum of the shot caused his body to tip backwards. In a moment of pure adrenaline, Hank’s hand flew from pressing into his wound, Connor’s bloodied jacket falling to the ground as the older man lunged forward. The tips of his finger circled themselves into the fabric of the android’s dress shirt, his added weight causing the lifeless body to topple over the edge, taking Hank with him.

They landed in the chilling water, Hank’s grip yanking upwards as he desperately tried to hold onto Connor in order to keep the android from sinking into the dark waters. He resurfaced with a loud gasp, sputtering out water and coughing roughly. His teeth _clacked_ together painfully, the water frigid and angry at having been disturbed, the current taking the two of them further away from shore. Hank looked down at the still body in his arms, mind narrowing in on one goal: _save Connor_.

With the help of the water, despite the current dragging him out, he moved so Connor was slumped over his back, freeing both hands so he could use them to steer back to shore. There was a boating dock not too far from where they’d fallen over, and Hank hoped to reach it _before_ hyperthermia kicked in.

“Don’t worry Connor,” he began, breathing in harshly as he tried to keep their heads above water, “I’m going to get us back”. Far off in the distance, he could see the dock, and as the water lapped at his body and sprayed his face, he slowly began to realize that they’d fallen farther away than he’d thought. He could only imagine what Connor would have to say to him in this moment— “Lieutenant, I must insist that with the strength of the current, you hold onto _me_ ,”— or rattle off their probability of success. He let out a grunt, a stitch in his side blossoming and causing him to falter, Connor’s body slipping before Hank righted him back in place.

“Not so fast there, son,” he said breathlessly as he resumed the pace he’d started at, though the muscles in his shoulders were beginning to protest, “don’t give up on me. . .” His voice trailed off, the heavy weight of Connor’s body made the sentence sour in his mouth and he took in an uneasy breath as he forged ahead.

The water was getting worse now, the closer he got, the waves picking up and biting against the back of his neck. Every time it did so, Hank would have to stop and readjust Connor, unwilling to let go of him despite stopping almost every few paces. One particular wave was especially out to get him, as it crashed over his head and pushed the pair underneath. Connor easily slipped from his grasp and Hank could feel the weight fall from his shoulders. In a panic, he turned around in the water to watch as Connor began to sink deeper and he willed his aching body to swim down to get him.

He frantically kicked his legs and moved his hands through the water, but Connor was heavier than him and was only sinking faster and faster. At this rate, Hank was going to run out of oxygen and drown right alongside Connor. At that, he faltered, staring down at the lifeless body, arms and legs going into auto pilot as he continued downwards. Eventually, Hank could feel his lungs burn, telling him that he’d reached his limit and needed to breathe before it was too late. But Hank stubbornly held on, moving faster than he thought he could, but it did little to help him. The air from the side of his mouth slowly escaped, the bubbles snaking their way up. He clamped a hand over his face and squeezed his eyes shut.

_Weak, weak, weak._

Hank threw his hand away from his mouth, opening it and instantly his body filled with water, limbs jerking at the intrusion as his lungs began to fill with it. He cast his blue eyes down to stare at Connor, a familiar ache taking root in his chest as he watched him sin deeper still. He’d failed Connor liked he’d failed his son, he deserved to die like this. To die watching someone he’d learned to care for slip away from him. Suddenly his body felt like it weighed too much, and he let his limbs drop down, closed his eyes, and thought of his son with his bright laugh and kind eyes, of his wife who held him close the moment Cole had died, and of Sumo who’d been there through the darkest of days. And then finally, Connor. The android sent by Cyberlife who’d been built to accomplish the task of tracking down Deviants, but instead became one himself. He thought of those warm brown eyes that held so much emotion in them when he’d saved Hank from his imposter, held onto that look of relief and openness until all he could think of was a single, fading word.

_Love. . ._


	2. Chapter 2

He’d never really believed in religion, never really thought about what would come next the moment his heart stopped beating and his bodily functions finally gave out. Was there something else? He didn’t really know, and at the time, he hadn’t really cared. The driving force behind ending it all had just been so he didn’t have to _feel_ anymore, _think_ anymore. Back then, he’d just wanted it all to end.

But life always seemed to work against him. First, it’d been Sumo, his lovable and loyal Saint Bernard who had grown up in some of the darkest years of his life. He’d been a gift from Jeffery and his wife, they’d been close friends for years until Cole’s death tore Hank apart, and Hank had been too broken to refuse. For a while, it seemed Sumo’s company worked. Hank went out and took Sumo out for walks after work, took him to the dog park and gave him endless amounts of affection. But even that came to a screeching halt.

Four months later, and four months of Hank playing Russian Roulette, life threw him another curve ball by having an android sent to be his _partner_. He’d overheard this tidbit of information and had immediately left the DPD to go downtown and grab a drink. Like he would ever work willingly alongside a fucking android.

That’d be a cold day in Hell.

Connor was his name and being an absolute prick about everything was his game. The kid never listened to a damn thing he said, not once. Always thinking he knew better—like sticking his fingers into evidence or charging out onto a busy highway—Hank swore Connor had a death wish that was just as bad as his. He hated him from the beginning, called him all sorts of nasty things because he could and watching the befuddled expression cross the kid’s face gave him some sort of twisted amusement. But every day like clockwork, Connor would show back up at work, ready to work alongside him whether Hank wanted him there or not. And the older man would never admit but, he commended Connor for sticking through with it and looking the other way about his. . . _questionable_ habits.

Two months in and Hank was _actually_ starting to warm up to him, he was still guarded about throwing Connor a bone, but with the way he seemed to be less and less rigid around him had to prove that something was working. He’d even used goddamn puppy dog eyes on him, tilted his head down while keeping his eyes up, eyebrows lowering pathetically, and Hank couldn’t refuse. What was wrong with him?

Sure, he still got angry at Connor, lashing out and baring his teeth, but _now_ it was because Connor was throwing himself into the line of fire to try and save _him_. A human who very clearly, expressed their distaste for his kind, but even that didn’t see me to deter the android anymore.

It was an odd thing to witness. . .to see someone actively trying to save you from harm. . .and from yourself. . .

Hank felt like he didn’t deserve it.

And he’d made sure of that. Jumping into the frigid waters of Detroit with a gunshot wound that was eating away at the little bit of time he had left. At least he’d tried to do some good, at least he’d tried to save Connor. . .at least he’d tried. . .

He could feel something, warm and heavy. . .like a blanket but. . .wasn’t he dead? Shouldn’t he be past the stage of being able to feel anything? Sound suddenly came rushing back to his ears and he could make out the faint beeping of a machine, the soft sounds of feet shuffling against carpet, quiet hums of something he could recognize. He felt a wash of hazy pain crash over him and he groaned hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut and moving his head away from the sensation. He could hear a small gasp, their words slightly jumbled and on instinct, his eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry for a few moments, the world around him a mess of dark reds and browns and it made him feel nauseous. He turned his head to the right to see a tall figure looming over him.

Brown hair, but it was cut too short and looked too straight, it didn’t have that bounce or curl that falls just so. Brown eyes stared back at him, but they didn’t look like the ones who’d pleaded with him so many times before, the eyebrows came down wrong somehow. The face became clearer and he could see that it was a male android, dressed in his identifier clothing, holding a small clipboard in his hands. His eyes were drawn down in concern but brightened up slightly when he saw Hank staring at him.

“Hello there, Lieutenant Anderson,” the android began in a soft voice that sounded bizarre, slightly automatic in its presentation, voice curling around his title like it was something foreign but familiar, “I’m glad to see you’re awake”. He smiles, and his forehead doesn’t crease, and Hank’s eyes wander away from him slightly, where is he? The room looks too extravagant to be a hospital, the walls aren’t white and there’s a bookcase lined with thousands of books, paintings scattered along the wall to his right. His body aches something terrible, his throat feels dry and scratchy and it feels like he’s floating, which is odd. What kind of shit is he high on?

“Your vitals are improving,” the android begins again, turning his attention to the machine Hank is connected to, “I know you must be exhausted but,” he trails off and gives Hank an apologetic look. His lip doesn’t hide in his mouth the way he’s used to seeing, those eyes don’t dart off to the ground either but keep their gaze locked on him. Why. . .?

“Markus wanted to see you the moment you awoke so,” another pause and Hank’s eyes flicker over to the LED light that flickers yellow before cycling back to blue, “he’ll be up shortly, don’t worry”. The male android turns back to the machine and jots down a few more notes, going back to humming whatever it was that he’d been doing earlier, Hank watching him.

Markus. . .yes, that name was familiar. . .he was a leader of sorts, wasn’t he? Why would he want to see Hank? He’d been actively seeking out people like him for the past four months with Connor and. . .

_Connor!_

The name hit him with a thousand emotions at once: _concern, delight, fear, worry, hope, happiness, anxiousness, panic. . ._

The monitor next to him increased in pitch and rate and the male android furrowed his brow in concern. He quickly placed his clipboard down onto the bed, hand reaching out to touch his shoulder and squeeze it firmly to try and ground him but Hank only felt his panic rise. Where was Connor? He’d killed himself right in front of Hank and the older man had jumped after him as they’d toppled down into cold waters. He could see flashes of his conversation with him, could see the pain there once again and Hank shut his eyes against it. He could see the android’s body slipping from his grasp and sinking further into icy waters, blue blood tainting the water.

Connor killed himself.

Connor killed himself.

Connor killed himself.

_Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. . ._

He vaguely registers a door opening, loud voice booming and suddenly the hand on his shoulder is gone and Hank madly lifts his own hand from somewhere and latches on to a blue, long sleeved jacket. His eyes fly up to look into mismatched orbs, one blue while the other is green. The hair is trimmed incredibly short, shaved down almost and the arm he holds onto is gripping him back just as firmly. Those different colored eyes were just as solid as their owners grasp, and Hank turned to look into those eyes and fought to come back to himself.

“You’re safe, Mr. Anderson,” a slight lisp to the words but they were kind and gentle, “easy breathing now”. The man before him took in a deep breath through his nose and then out his mouth, tipping his head down to Hank, to encourage the older man to mimic him. Hank did so, sloppily at first but gradually his thoughts quieted down, his racing heart slowing and now all he felt was more exhaustion seep into his old bones.

“There we are,” the man began with a smile, “we’ve got you”. Hank pressed his head into the pillows behind him, grip going slack and falling back to his side. The man next to him sat back, smile still on his face though now his eyes were hard, not angry per say, but just overwhelmed with worry that came out looking disappointed.

“You gave us quite a scare, I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” those eyes blinked a few times, running down his body before making direct eye contact again. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me but, allow me to formally introduce myself,” the man pressed a hand over his chest, “my name is Markus”.

Markus, leader of the android rebellion and savior to android kind. Hank’s eyes wandered around and Markus followed his gaze, lips turning up in a smile, “You’re welcome here in my home,” he began as he let his eyes flicker across the various knickknacks, “you did a brave thing, rushing in to save Connor”.

At the name of his partner Hank’s fingers twitched and he ground his teeth as he tried to find his voice.

“Is. . .h-he. . .al-alive. . .?”, he croaked out, clearing his throat and letting a tired sigh fall from his chapped lips. His voice was as weak as he felt.

Markus reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it as his smile remained and reached his eyes, “Yes,” he whispered, and relief filled Hank’s body. It was like a weight had been lifted and now he could finally breathe again.

“Good,” he rasped as he swiped his though across his lips, “I’d be pretty. . .pretty pissed if-if he wasn’t” he got out as he let another sign tumble out. Markus let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head before he released Hank’s hand, eyes growing serious.

“There was. . .significant damage done to his neural networks. . .without access to Cyberlife, we had to rummage around for the right parts,” he paused and looked up at Hank, expression optimistic yet concerned. “We’re uncertain about the implications this will have on his memory,” he looked down to the right and Hank’s gaze wavered off towards the curtains to his left, “he might not be who he once was when he awakens”. Markus’ tone was grave, his mouth pulled down into a frown when Hank turned back to look at him.

“I wish there was more we could do,” he sighed as he clasped his hands together. Hank hummed thoughtfully, mind wandering to the time when Connor was more machine than human and shuddered. It was great that Connor was safe but at the expense of his memories and humanity, it clenched around Hank’s heart harder than he’d intended. But at least they were both safe for the time being. . .

“How did you know where we were?”, Hank asked quietly as the question crossed his mind. He’d thought that they were done for as they’d sunk under the water. Every human had been evacuated and Hank had thought no android would come to save him. And yet, here he was, here they both were in the house of the Deviant leader. Their wounds taken care of and past transgressions pushed aside to deal with later, it was more than Hank thought would ever happen.

Markus let out another small chuckle, though it sounded more like a huff of breath to Hank, “Connor found me, linked up to my consciousness,” he supplied when Hank gave him a confused look, “he was dead set on me saving you and leaving him to die”. There was soft wonder in his voice as Markus spoke, like he couldn’t fathom the infamous Deviant hunter going out of his way to save a human life.

“He was in immense pain,” he started up again and it was like his mind was elsewhere. His face scrunched up in thought, his eyes flicking back and forth, “he didn’t want to cause any more harm, he wanted you to live. . .” Markus lifted his head, eyes widening minutely, realization dancing across his face until he schooled it into one of quiet awe, “he deeply cares for you”.

Hank made a noncommittal grunt, eyes turning away from Markus as he gave a curt nod of his head. He didn’t like having his emotions out for others to see, and he certainly didn’t know how to properly handle Connor’s unyielding admiration for him. It made him feel uncomfortable and insecure.

Markus noticed this and quickly began to apologize, “Forgive me, when we connect like we did, emotions tend to become heightened and we can access them freely from one another,” he tipped his head forward, “I apologize for being so careless”.

Hank resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead turned his head away, “It’s fine, don’t beat yourself up about it”. He cleared his throat a few times afterwards, hoping to mask his embarrassment over the entire situation. Markus seemed pleased to leave it at that as his expression softened once more, “If there's anything I can get for you please, don’t hesitate to ask”.

It peaked Hank’s interest and he turned his back around to cock an eyebrow in Markus’ direction, “Why help me?”, he asked quietly. He narrowed his eyes curiously at the Deviant leader before him whose own expression was carefully guarded.

“You risked your life to save Connor, the least I can do is this,” he stated it so matter of fact that it took Hank aback, the older man blinking his eyes a few times before he gave a quiet hum in response.

“In any case,” Markus began again, moving his body as if to get up from his spot on the bed but deciding against it, “he’s in the hands of one of my best associates, you can see him when you’ve gotten your strength back”. He lifted himself up from the bed and Hank’s fingers twitched at the prospect of seeing Connor and making sure the android was still with him.

“I’m good to go now,” he grumbled, hand fisting into the soft sheets of the bed and he tried to pry himself from the comfortable position he’d been resting in. A sharp stab of pain laced its way through his abdomen and Hank bit the inside of his mouth to keep from crying out in pain. Markus’ gaze turned hard, body dropping back down to sit on the bed and leveling Hank with a serious stare, “You mustn’t move yet, Mr. Anderson, your stitches will tear”.

Hank grunted, letting out a strained huff of breath and was about to move his leg to push himself off the bed when Markus pressed firmly against Hank’s shoulder. He’d leaned in closer and with little space between them, Hank could make out the small flicker of his pupils.

“Please,” he began in a stern voice, “save your strength. If you insist on seeing him tomorrow I’ll assist you, but for now, rest”.

Hank didn’t like being told what he could and couldn’t do, something that had grown tremendously when he’d first started working with Connor. The android having an annoying talent of brining it out of him. But the way Markus was looking at him spoke volumes, it was a similar look he’d seen Connor give him on a few occasions—the night he’d drunk himself into a coma, their tense exchange at the park—and something in Hank reluctantly let go and he stiffly nodded his head.

“Fine,” he drawled out, “tomorrow then”.

-.-

The birds chirped cheerfully, their beaks ducking away into their bright yellow feathers and then wistfully called to one another. If one were to just take a quick glance as they walked past the entry way, they wouldn’t notice anything out of place. But as it were, he could clearly see their small LEDs, softly cycling through blue as their song filled the air. He wasn’t a fan of birds, particularly pigeons, and real or not, it still unsettled him. He tore his blue eyes away from them, left them alone to place his large hands over the wheels of his chair and propel himself towards the large doors in front of him.

Hank had convinced, or rather _forced_ , Markus into getting him out of bed and into an older model of wheelchair Carl owned. The famous painter whose room he’d spent the greater half of two days sleeping before he’d woken up just yesterday, the same man who was rummaging in his kitchen and making him a cup of coffee.

The doors automatically opened before him and he wheeled through the threshold, eyes roaming around the room before him. A long wooden table off to the left, three large windows with a chess table and pieces set out on it, the sunlight of the early morning cascading into the large room and casting a soft glow throughout. The small living area in the center bathed in the warm light, the thin TV playing soft music that bounced from wall to wall. There were shelves and shelves of books and knickknacks strewn throughout the room, the large giraffe putting him off, but he cast his eyes back down and steadily ignored it.

“Really Markus, I’m _fine_ ,” a gruff voice sounded from the left side of the room and Hank’s eyes found Carl Manfred wheeling himself out of his kitchen, a tray with two mugs and some pastry shop balanced on his legs. His face was contorted into a grimace, batting his hands at Markus who was following close behind, exasperated expression coloring his features. It made something warm flutter in Hank’s chest and he subconsciously dug his blunt nails into the rubber of the wheels. The two played off one another so well, Carl chiding at Markus teasingly as he would to a child, the Deviant leader looking as sullen as a toddler who’d been denied candy for dinner.

“I just don’t want you to burn yourself, Carl”, Markus quipped lightly, hands reaching out once more but finally dropping to his side as he relented. The older man let out a bark of laughter, catching Hank’s eyes as they neared the living space.

“Good morning, friend,” he called out, his voice light and airy, eyes sparkling brightly as he came up to Hank and placed his tray of goods down onto the coffee table, “aren’t we just two peas in a pod”. He let out another bark of laughter, gently hitting his knee at his own joke while Markus groaned loudly.

“Carl, must I remind you of your manners every time we have a guest?”

The painter pointedly ignored his charge, focusing instead on picking up a coffee mug and handing off to Hank, “I’m not sure how you like it but,” he began as he also handed Hank a small place with a buttered croissant in his direction, “so there just a little bit of milk and sugar in there, don’t be afraid to speak your mind son”. He gave another laugh and Hank tipped his head in wordless thanks, gently blowing on the liquid in the cup before taking a sip. It was slightly sweeter than he liked, but it wasn’t horrible, so he took another sip. Markus made his way around Carl to take a seat on the couch, giving Carl an irritated yet fond look, sighing as he shook his head.

“What am I going to do with you, Carl?”, he mused, corners of his lips turning up into a playful smirk when Carl gave a huff in response.

“Don’t mind my son,” Carl started, picking up his own mug of coffee and taking a long sip, “he’s always off thinking about what to do next, like start a revolution”. Carl cast his look sideways at Markus, playful in nature. The Deviant leader fixed him with his own version of it as he leaned back in the couch and crossed his arms over his chest, “It’s a reflection of the one who raised me,” he countered as he quirked an eyebrow.

The pair held their gaze before laughing softly, the sound genuine and making Hank feel like he was intruding in on a world he shouldn’t be privy to.

Carl noticed Hank’s uneasy and turned to look at him, “Markus is right,” he began as he set down his cup and brought out a hand towards Hank, “let me introduce myself, name’s Carl Manfred”. Hank took the painter’s hand, the man’s grip strong for someone in his mid 70’s, “Hank Anderson, pleasure to meet you”. Satisfied at that, Carl turned to raise an eyebrow at Markus, the android looking the other way as a small smile graced his lips, seemingly accepting this action.

“Now then,” the painter said a bit louder, moving both hands onto the coffee table to place around his mug, “It’d seem Markus here plucked you and your boy from the river, I’m glad to see you doing better”.

Better. . .was he though? Hank wasn’t too sure, yes, the pain was more manageable than yesterday, but Markus still wasn’t allowing him to walk up and down the flight of stairs, finally getting Hank into a wheelchair that made him feel older than what he was. His thoughts were still focused on Connor and where he was within the large house and how he was doing. Wondered who he’d be faced with when the time came, when Connor would step back into his life. Hank wasn’t sure how to process how any of that felt, and in truth it felt like a conglomeration of bits of other emotions that were rolled up tightly inside of him. Suffocating him and making him feel ten different things at once, so he’d done what he knew best, he’d shuts himself off from that dreadful night and the emotions he’d felt, burying everything down until he only felt lost and numb.

No, Hank quietly settled on, he wasn’t doing any better. . .

“I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble,” he said instead, running a hand behind his head and then taking a sip of his coffee, “we’re a mess”.

Carl regarded him thoughtfully, eyes flickering back and forth across his face and Hank swore it was like the man was looking through him instead of at him. Those light blue eyes looking like they knew more than what Hank was letting on but instead, a smile spread across his face and he shook his head.

“Nonsense, it’s been no trouble housing you and your boy,” he took a sip of coffee as Hank flinched at the word used for Connor. Some father figure he was to the poor broken android, he’d pushed Connor into thinking suicide was the answer and now here they both were, more broken than ever before.

“Connor should be waking up soon,” Markus interjected and the look he gave Hank meant that he’d seen his dour reaction to what Carl had unknowingly said, “Simon has been working tirelessly on helping the recalibration process”.

Simon, the one who’d followed Markus and the others into the Stratford Tower to record Markus’ message for all of Detroit to see. Connor hadn’t been able to locate him, despite being adamant about there being four androids seen on the surveillance footage but only three tracks of footsteps left behind in the skiff of snow.

“Ah. Well that’s. . .awful nice of him to do. . .”, Hank’s voice trailed off as an uncomfortable silence came over them, Markus opening his mouth to say more when the door behind him opened. He and Hank turned their eyes to see Simon standing in the threshold of the door, eyes widening in surprise and steps faltering when he caught sight of them.

“Oh, uh, h-hello there,” he began nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “My name is Simon and I’ve uh. . .”, he trailed off and his blue eyes went down to look at the bundle he carried, Hank biting the inside of his lip so hard he could taste blood.

_Connor._

He wasn’t wearing his dress shirt, instead, he had on a plain gray short-sleeved shirt that seemed to be too big for him as it almost swallowed his lithe frame and black sweatpants that pooled at his ankles. His normally neat hair was unruly, strands sticking out at odd angles and incredibly wavy, Hank had never realized it before now. His head was tilted into Simon’s chest, his hands brought up to rest on his stomach and legs dangling lifelessly, Hank noted that Connor was barefoot. Simon caught him staring when he looked back up and the android nervously straightened his back, taking quick steps into the room and moving to situate Connor onto the couch. Simon gently placed Connor in a sitting position, prodding the android’s shoulders back just so and placing his hands into lap before stepping out of the way to stand near Markus.

Hank felt a lump rise in his throat and he swallowed a few times to rid himself of the sensation. He felt the familiar sting of tears prick his eyes but he held them back. He watched as Connor’s LED slowly cycled yellow, watched with bated breath and unwilling to tear his eyes away. It was a moment he’d been anticipating but unsure of what the outcome would be. Markus had said himself that without access to Cyberlife, the extent of damage control they had been able to achieve was limited. For all they knew, Connor would wake up and not remember anything. And that was what had Hank’s hands go to the wheels of his chair and grip the rubber, turning his chair around in order to face him properly. He moved as if on instinct, no one stopping him just merely observing, and Hank reached out a tentative hand to rest on top of Connor’s.

One old and worn and broken, the other young and brimming with potential.

“Connor. . .”, he called out his name quietly, the letters familiar to his tongue as they rolled off naturally and without the hint of annoyance in which he usual used for the android. His eyes watched as the LED cycled yellow a few more times before changing into blue, the hand in his grasp twitching slightly before those synthetic eyelids fluttered open and warm brown stared back into icy blue.

Hank sucked in a breath, watched as Connor’s eyes looked him up and down blankly before moving to systematically look around the room. His head moved stiffly, and he was unnervingly quiet as he did so, it’d been so long since he’d seen Connor behave like this. Behave like the machine he’d once been instead of someone one who could feel.

“Connor?”, Hank asked, and this caught the android’s attention, his eyes snapping back to Hank, looking him and down once more.

“Do you. . . remember me?”, his voice was quiet, he didn’t want to ask because somewhere in the back of his mind, he already knew the answer and was clinging onto the hope that he might be wrong. He’d been wrong many times these past four months, and he hoped to God that Connor would continue to prove this to him.

The android tilted his head minutely to one side, face impassive as he said, “My name is Connor, I’m an advanced RK800 Prototype, glad to make your acquaintance”.

And Hank’s heart sank.

-.-

Markus watched as Hank’s hand fell from Connor’s lap, the man tilting his head down as he let out a contemplative hum before saying nothing more and wheeling himself back and away from the group. His eyes were trained on the older man who set himself in front of the large bay windows near the chess set, only turning his eyes back to Connor as he saw the way the android’s hand twitched reflexively. He kept watching as Connor looked from Hank and then to his hand, opening and closing it a couple of times before seemingly satisfied and stared straight ahead.

He could put an end to this, if he wanted to, could convert Connor and make him a Deviant, and his hands clenched in his lap and he could hear Simon make an anxious noise from behind him.

“I’m going to clean up. . .”, he quickly said and gave Markus’ shoulder a firmly, squeeze before going back into Carl’s painting studio. Markus wordlessly nodded his head in conformation, eyes trailing over to Connor before opening his mouth.

“Connor,” he began softly, and he tried to refrain from wincing at the robotic way Connor turned to look at him, “you’re free to explore, please,” he said as he swept his hand in an overarching gesture that meant he had free range, “make yourself comfortable”. He watched as Connor minutely tilted his head, LED cycling a calm blue before smoothly standing and tipping his head towards Markus, hands moving to fold behind his back.

“Certainly, please excuse me”. Markus watched as Connor moved to the direction of the piano and large bookshelf behind them, turning back around to find Carl looking at him knowingly.

“Carl,” Markus regarded his father-figure carefully, mismatched eyes falling down to see the way the older man’s lips quirked up into a wiry grin.

“Markus,” Carl mimicked, turning his head around to give his adopted son his undivided attention, “speak your mind son,” he added, slight annoyance creeping into his voice but from the way his eyes shone mischievously, Markus knew he meant no harm by it.

“You know me too well,” Markus started quietly, his eyes falling down to stare at his hands, “I can help them, help Connor”, he began again after a few moments before looking back up at Carl.

“ _I_ was the one who let Connor go alone, _I_ was the one who should’ve been paying the upmost attention to him,” Markus felt his hands clench into fists and he furrowed his brow in frustration, “ _I’m_ the one whose responsible for this”. He tilted his head in the direction of Hank, the policeman running a finger across each of the chess pieces, Carl following his movement as he always looked behind to cast a frustrated glance at Connor who was running a light hand over the keys of the piano, LED cycling yellow.

“I took away what little familiarity they might have already created with one another,” Markus said solemnly as he rotated back around, “I feel like I _have_ to do something”.

Carl hummed thoughtfully for a few moments, sipping his coffee from his mug before he gave Markus a curious look, “And you believe that _making_ Connor deviate will help?”, he held up a hand to stop Markus from interjecting, turning his head away and making sounds of refusal.

“I know that look for anywhere Markus, don’t think you can fool me,” he said in a chastising manner.

“I know you feel like you owe it them to fix this but,” Carl began, pausing as he reached out a hand to place on his son’s shoulder, “making Connor Deviant won’t solve anything, he still won’t know who he is”. The weight of his statement sat heavy in Markus’ stomach, and he reluctantly nodded his head.

“Connor deviated because of _me_ , I can’t help but feel responsible”.

Carl made another thoughtful noise at that, his eyes narrowing as he turned to look from Connor, who’d sat down on the piano bench and then at Hank who was shuffling the pieces of the chessboard around. He looked back at Markus, and the android could see the wheels turning in his father’s mind, putting two and two together.

“How do you know Connor deviating is because of you?” He asked, grabbing his mug of coffee and taking a small sip, “Who’s to say that it wasn’t someone else who just so happened to tilt those odds in your favor?” Markus narrowed his eyes in thought, line of sight staying on Hank for a few seconds before he quirked an eyebrow in Carl’s direction.

“You believe Hank had something to do with this?”

Carl gave a firm nod of his head, setting his blue eyes back on Markus and making sure his son paid close attention to him, “Life is strange after all, who’s to say”. He gave a sly smile and downed the rest of his coffee as soft jazz piano filtered into the quiet morning air. Markus’ attention shifted over to Hank once more, watching the man’s shoulders tense before moving his head to the side, not quite turning it completely but moving it just right so he could hear Connor play.

-.-

Most of his days were spent wandering around the spacious home he’d woken up in, running his hands over the spines of old books that were juxtaposed against the newer books that were placed neatly on the coffee table in the small living space, the incredibly thin television a sight in itself. The people that surrounded him were also, interesting to say the least.

There was Markus—very much an android, Connor had noticed instantly, the air humming around him despite not having an LED indicator of his own, it was just something he instantly knew without having to try— he carried himself with a confidence and certainty Connor found unique to the RK200 model. His eyes were always dark and somber whenever he spoke to his other follower, Simon he believed, but it all vanished whenever he caught Connor staring at him. Markus seemed to be more open and willing to communicate with him whereas Simon would duck his head or avert his eyes anytime Connor would approach them, his artificial heartrate picking up. Connor suspected he’d done something to lose his favor, but what that was, he couldn’t remember.

It was odd to see them, androids just as much as he was, but walking around as if they were more human than machine. Speaking passionately about this and that—they always stopped whenever Connor got _too_ close—and acting as if they could truly _feel_ emotions rather than just simulate them. It looked as though Markus and a group of other androids had created an uprising of sorts, pushing against their coding and becoming more than machines. It was further supported whenever Connor switched the television to the news stations, the news anchors covering their press conferences and taking interviews from the humans who were slowly trailing back into Detroit. It was all so overwhelming, even for _his_ programming.

And speaking of. . .

Ever since he’d been woken up, parts of his processing systems were closed off from him. Every time he would try and conjure up the memory of his predecessor—his programming was _certain_ that there had to be at least one another before him—he got an error screen, following by his programs telling him that he didn’t have authorized access. Even the slightest push against the error messages proved futile, all it did was bring up more confusion with more and more questions arising but with no answer for them in sight.

The sound of the door to the kitchen sliding open drew him away from his morning musings—he’d found himself back at the corner where the piano was—and looked up to find one of the two humans who were currently living in the house. The older man’s icy blue eyes caught his, his steps faltering and lips hovering over the cup he had in hand. Connor could see the man actively considering slipping back into the kitchen and leaving the room without saying anything.

His name was Hank Anderson. Top Lieutenant at the Detroit Police Department, a man with a chronic history of alcoholism and depression and a distinct hatred of androids. Though, Connor wasn’t too sure how reliable that last tidbit of information was, seeing how the man had been staring at him earnestly the moment his eyes opened, like he was searching for something hidden within Connor but was disappointed when he couldn’t find it. In fact, Connor was considering changing that last bit of information to just include himself as it appeared the police man had no trouble whatsoever communicating with Markus or Simon. He only ever seemed to freeze up whenever he and Connor were in the same room, alone, as if he didn’t know how to approach something like him.

His wounds had healed considerably, and he no longer needed the wheelchair to move around. It put him in better spirits although Connor could sense the lingering cloud of uncertainty that seemed to trail after the man despite how much he’d improved. There’d be a slight furrowing of the man’s brow whenever he felt a twitch in his side, his hand pressing lightly against the wound. His gait was still stiff and slow, but Connor had come to establish that the older police man was quite stubborn and would push through any and all discomfort.

The sound of the older man clearing his throat caught Connor’s attention, once again shifting his attention away from his thoughts. He appeared to take one step forward, mouth opening as if he wanted to say something, casting his eyes downwards and then flicking them back up in Connor’s direction. He waved his free hand dismissively towards the android, clicking his tongue before shaking his head and wordlessly exiting the room the same way he’d entered.

His prompt exit confused Connor further, something stirring in the pit of his stomach and he took an uncertain step forward, frown turning down the corners of his lips. It was. . .unsettling. . .

The main door to the living room opened then, his eyes moving to the left to see Carl being wheeled in by another android with short hair and a kind smile across his face. The famous painter caught his eye immediately and he gave a small wave of his hand, turning to look over his shoulder to speak to the android pushing his chair.

“Thank you, I can wheel myself now,” his voice was gentle and the android gave a short nod of his head, unperturbed.

“Of course, Carl,” another tip of his head and the android left the room, disappearing behind the large oak doors and leaving the two of them alone. Carl wheeled closer to Connor, smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes, head titled to one side in a questioning manner.

“How are you son?”

“Fine I suppose,” and then, “thank you for your concern Mr. Manfred”. Everyone seemed to be asking him that same question in their own way. Markus would do it in the way he would talk to him, voice soft and gentle, questions simple and vague enough, with Carl, he was more up front and to the point. Connor suspected this had to do with the man’s age, wisdom coming to those who lived long enough to see just about everything and then some. He respected Carl because of this, something about the older man tugging at his heart that made him feel like he’d been purposefully created to connect to this specific type of personality. Hank’s face came to the forefront of his mind when he thought this, but he didn’t give it another thought as Carl spoke up once more.

“ _Mr. Manfred_ ,” Carl began, scoffing and tossing his head back as he placed his fingers around his wheels and moved himself towards his painting studio, “was my father’s name, Carl is just fine”. He stopped as the automated door slid open, stopping in the middle of the threshold and turned his blue eyes back at Connor, the android still standing in the middle of the room.

“Care to join me this beautiful morning?”, he didn’t wait for a reply, wheeling himself further into the room as Connor finally moved to follow him. In the short amount of time that Connor had been active, it’d become a sort of routine for him to accompany the painter into his studio. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was drawn into that particular room—maybe it was because of the floor to ceiling windows that let natural light flood in and bathe him in a warmth he felt seep into his wiring—but it made him feel welcome in a house that otherwise treated him as though he were about to have a mental breakdown. Which was impossible, he was an android after all and could easily sort through his experiences with everyone and come to rational conclusions. There wasn’t much for him to sort through as it were, so statistically speaking, they didn’t have a reason to treat him so carefully. But he never voiced this.

The studio was bathed in morning light, the sun reflecting off the snow piled in the backyard that sparkled brilliantly whenever Connor moved. It caught his eye and he moved towards the window, reaching out a hand to press against the large window as Carl busied himself with gathering his supplies, humming under his breath.

Carl appeared to be the only one who seemed to treat Connor as if everything were normal, as if he hadn’t done something out of the norm and didn’t have amnesia. The others seemed to dance around the subject and the one time he’d brought it up to Hank, the older man had lashed out at him before quickly backpedaling and apologizing and had ultimately stopped talking to him entirely. The thought made Connor furrow his brow, his hand falling from the window to lay back at his side, his LED sputtering blue before flashing yellow but before giving Hank anymore thought, the sound of brushes falling to the floor followed by Carl cursing tore his attention away from himself.

He turned around to see a handful of brushes splayed out onto the floor, some laying underneath one of the long tables Carl kept in his studio, the man wheeling himself back to try and see if he could potentially grab some of them. Connor moved without prompt, walking across the room and kneeling on the ground to retrieve Carl’s brushes.

“Thank you, son,” Carl spoke as he wheeled off to the side to allow Connor the room to pick up the fallen equipment, “these old bones don’t move quite like they used to”. He gave a raspy laugh at that, Connor standing once he’d gathered all the brushes to see the man’s lips turned up into a small smirk, eyes twinkling.

“I’m happy to help,” he said as he handed Carl his brushes back, watching as the man plunked them back into the stained glass jar he kept them in, swatches of paint covering it. The painter considered him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he let out a small sigh, turning around and moving towards a tall metal bookshelf, reaching up to grab a worn and battered box of paints back to the table Connor waited by.

“Why not try painting today, Connor,” the man offered him as said android took an empty canvas and placed it on the easel, pausing to cast a curious glance towards Carl.

“I’ve only been observing you for a few weeks now,” surely that wouldn’t mean Carl felt like Connor could actually paint the way he did. He raised a brow at Carl, the older man too busy with setting out paint onto an artist’s palette, lips quirked up into a smile once more.

“I don’t believe I possess the capability to produce art in the same capacity as you, Carl,” he began evenly, tone curling up towards the end that highlighted his uncertainty over the situation. He was a guest in Carl’s house, had been for five weeks, and Connor didn’t believe Carl had grown that accustomed to him in that short amount of time. Although, the man did seem to have opened his home up to a handful of other androids—mainly Markus and Simon came to mind but a small part of him felt like he could include himself in that, as well as the medical android—but it still threw Connor for a loop.

Carl made a disgruntled noise, lips turning down into a frown as he waved a dismissive hand in Connor’s direction, “Nonsense, I’ll hear nothing about it,”. He finished up with what he was doing, turning around and handing the android the artist pallet, smile stretched across his face as Connor awkwardly reached out to grab it, the older man handing him a brush and ushering him to stand in front of the blank canvas.

“What would I even paint?”, Connor asked, his LED cycling from blue into yellow, “I haven’t been activated long and I can’t. . .”, _can’t remember anything from before_. He clamped his mouth shut, turning his head sharply away from the canvas in front of him, face twisted up in clear discomfort and Carl seemed to finally notice his unease towards this.

“When I paint,” Carl began softly, “I don’t always draw from past experiences, sometimes inspiration comes from events happening in the present, things that are occurring in real time”. Connor watched as Carl’s eyes gained a far-off look as they moved to stare out at the large windows, Connor following his gaze as the man continued speaking.

“For instance, looking out at the window right now fills me with peace, the kind that only ever comes when the world is waking up.” He turned back to Connor, a small twinkle in his eye, “When you look out there, what do you see?”

Connor regarded the snow-covered ground, his mind telling him that it was cold for a human, that if they wore improper clothing, the snow would soak in a chill them to the bone. He could see the unique structure of the snow outside, and could pick out the crystalline framework that made up the individual flakes that created the larger picture. He didn’t understand what he was supposed to see, there was snow of course, but he felt there was something deeper that Carl was trying to pry from him, but for the life of him, Connor couldn’t identify what he was supposed to say.

“I. . .just see the snow. . .”, he said as he turned his eyes back at Carl, who was regarding him carefully, “I guess. . .I see, the cold”. The android furrowed his brow, feeling as if a chill was making its way down from the back of his neck and to the base of his lower back. It was an odd sensation and he turned to look back out at the window, eyes narrowing.

“I _feel_ cold?” A question, filled with uncertainty. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something seemed to click and he saw distorted images of snow falling from an inky black sky, could hear the howling of the wind whipping around him, could feel the cold gripping tight around him.

He could feel the cold seeping into his limbs and he whipped his head around, turning his eyes away from the window and setting down the artists palette with more force than was necessary. Long pale fingers gripped the edge of the table, brown eyes darted back and forth as they stared at everything and nothing at the same time.

“Connor. . .?” Distantly he could hear Carl call out his name but it felt wrong coming from the older man, his concern making something twist inside of the android. Like it wasn’t meant to be coming from him but from another. He turned his head towards Carl, staring at the man whose eyes were filled with concern and sympathy, a hand outstretched to try and comfort him but Connor moved back. He didn’t want anyone touching him, didn’t want anyone to look at him with that look in their eyes, it was all suddenly too much for him and he could feel his face heat up as his system kicked in to try and cool him down.

“I’m okay. . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Markus: Wow, Connor really likes you
> 
> Carl: Your boy is safe, how does that make you feel?
> 
> Hank: Can we PLEASE not talk about this?!
> 
> Connor: What is this I'm feeling????


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a time jump for this chapter, I swear there's some happiness in here somewhere, just squint a little :')

One deep breath. . .hold. . .release. . .feel the burn from the inside out.

Hank never really indulged in smoking anymore, he preferred to drown his thoughts in alcohol, drinking until he couldn’t see straight anymore and drinking until he couldn’t remember why he’d opened that bottle of Black Lamb to begin with. But the android had nagged at him about his high alcohol consumption and had _strongly_ recommended he wean himself off of the stuff. Much to Hank’s annoyance, he’d complied and slowly stopped drinking every other night, managing only to drink once or twice over the course of a few months.

The best track record he’d ever managed to keep over anything in his life if Hank was being perfectly honest with himself. He knew where his bottle of Black Lamb was, the amber liquid bottle tucked away into one of the far corners of his kitchen cabinet, and knew he could very well drink as much as he wanted— _"desperate times called for desperate measures, Connor”_ —but instead he found himself content to smoke out in his backyard. There mere thought of drinking making his nose wrinkle in aversion, Connor was too good of an influence on him.

The police man had spent most of his time at his own home for about a week, finally being able to walk freely without assistance. He didn’t like being confined to the wheelchair, the mode of transportation just a bitter reminder at how he’d failed at keeping Connor safe, how he’d fallen into another trap. Hank took in a long drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke noisily as the phantom feeling of him moving around on wheels ghosted across his body.

Trapped, weak, fragile. He hated how close to home those words described him during those first few days. Even now, he still felt weak, life having thrown him another curveball, only this time he felt like he’d been pulled right back to the very beginning and had no idea where to go from here. His house had been full of memories that plagued him, reminded him of better days and filled his heart with a longing that hurt so much that he couldn’t bear to be inside for more than a few hours at a time.

So why had he even bothered coming back? Well. . .

It was one thing to have life tear the people you loved away from you, calling them to an early grave and filling their hearts with hate. It was another to have life tear away the one person who seemed to inexplicably understand you and dangle them right in front of you, their eyes staring at you but not really seeing you.

Seeing Connor every day and having guilt and anger slowly eat away at him was a new form of torture that Hank never thought he’d experience. It felt like he was back at square one and if he’d stayed at Carl’s home, Hank was certain he would have blown up in Connor’s face with no way to fix it. And there was nothing the android could do about it, he didn’t know that he knew Hank. Didn’t remember that the two of them had spent four months running across Detroit tracking down Deviants while Connor had unknowingly started becoming more and more human.

And now all the progress had been ripped away from him, leaving Connor none the wiser, and anger bubbled up Hank’s chest at that. He grimaced, placing his cigarette back into his mouth and pulling another long drag. Life wasn’t ever fucking fair. Life was never a fucking fairy tale where things magically worked out in the end. Real life was messy and complicated and now Hank was alone again.

Well. . .not entirely. . .

Sumo was outside with him as well, busy pushing his snout through the snow and making a winding trail through the snow, his muzzle coated in snow. It was comforting to have the Saint Bernard there with him, to have someone who unconditionally loved him and who was so tuned into his mood that the loveable canine would sit next to him on the couch whenever he was feeling particularly stressed out or upset.

What he found a little surprising was how when he’d spend the first full night back in the house, was Sumo waking up and instantly going towards the front door, tail wagging. It had been like he was expecting someone and Hank had tried, unsuccessfully, to get the dog away from the door to eat breakfast. But Sumo had stubbornly sat at the door, whine escaping him until he seemed to realize no one else was coming through. It was also around the same time Hank realized that he’d been waiting for Connor.

Now though, it seemed Sumo sensed the change in routine, no longer lingering by the front door every morning and going about his life as if the android had never existed. And that made Hank uncontrollably angry and depressed.

But Hank was never one to lash out at animals, it wasn’t their fault. So instead he found himself stuffing out his cigarette on the concrete step, fishing in his jacket pocket for his lighter and pulling out another cigarette, lighting it up and allowing the sweet nicotine to coat his lungs.

At least Sumo didn’t haggle him about his questionable health habits.

Hank took another deep drag, forcefully blowing out the smoke and watching it curl into the air before vanishing. Part of him wished he could just forget about the past four months and what they’d done to him, and part of him becomes angry and bitter for even considering such a thing. But he’s been down this road before, and he’s not entirely sure he’s ready to have his emotions war it out inside of him, tearing him apart from the inside out once again until he’s back at rock bottom, without Connor there to drag him back up to his feet.

Habits were hard to break and even harder to make, and he could suddenly feel his right hand twitch as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth. He licked his lips and clasped his hands together in lap, swallowing thickly as he tried to move his thoughts away from everything and anything. He couldn’t go back down that hole again, not after Connor had saved him from the edge but damn it all—the call was just so strong, and he was just broken enough to feel like maybe it’d be all right.

“Fuck!”, he suddenly shouted, the sudden noise causing Sumo to jerk his head up from the snow, body coming to a jerky stop and he tilted his head towards his owner, confused. Cautiously, his canine companion trotted over to him, head lowered slightly, and nudged Hank’s knees with his wet snout, the snow seeping into Hank and causing the man to shiver.

“That’s enough for now,” he said, words coming out strained and he snuffed out his unfinished cigarette beside him, standing up quickly and turning to move back inside. Sumo followed him dutifully and walked straight to his water and food bowl, giving his dry kibble an experimental sniff before decided that he was willing to eat. Normally, Hank would have dried him off, but he just couldn’t find the strength, or want, to really bother.

His body moved without his consent, his hands grabbing the amber bottle and glass, filling it up and throwing back the burning liquid. It curled around his chest, gripping his heart and spreading the warmth throughout his body. Another one, and this time he felt it hit his head, the taste bitter and strong on his tongue, but he didn’t care. Once more and this time he took it down too quick and he roughly coughed, pressed a hand to his chest before he was drinking another one.

_“I really must advise that you limit your consumption of alcohol, Hank.”_

Yeah well, he wasn’t fucking here to stop him. So, Hank was going to drink.

-.-

The next morning Hank wakes with a pounding headache in his head and a dull ache in his chest. He’s laying on the floor of his living room, Sumo curled up against his side and he idly runs his fingers through soft fur. An incessant thought suddenly coming to his mind that reminds him distinctly of the one he’s lost.

_Not again._

He drags himself up from the floor and shucks off his clothes, splashes water on his face and throws on another shirt that’s not quite clean but not horrifically dirty either, and heads out the door.

Not again.

-.-

Humans trickled back into Detroit, picking up the pieces of their lives they thought they’d have to leave behind forever, only to be able to come back and pick up where they left off. Most kept to themselves as the city struggled to regain some semblance of order—the DPD re-opening its doors and welcoming back its officers as vandalizers took to the streets. There was tension out on the streets, the more people came back and brought their own ideas about how things should have gone or how they would’ve handled the uprising.

As if any of them would have actively gone through with their half-baked plans anyway.

Five months had passes and President Warren had announced the government’s cooperation with Markus’ terms, stating that she was in full support in helping androids become part of society. Though, it was being met with backlash from the opposing side, saying that androids were still nothing but machines meant to serve and now that they’d deviated, those not in agreement were calling for the President to recall every single android left.

It’d caught the attention of Cyberlife, who’d just recently reappointed Elijah Kamski as head of the multimillion-dollar company. He’d been on the news recently, openly addressing the concerns of the public and trying to ease their lingering fears. But again, there was backlash from the public as soon as Kamski set foot in the public eye once again.

There were those that speculated that he’d been lying to them al from the beginning, playing back audio tapes and visual footage of him assuring the people of Detroit that his androids were incapable of want and feelings. He’d said they were only machines, but here Markus had come, crafting a plan to give a voice to androids everywhere. Some say he’d planned it all along, as a way to get back into Cyberlife but others wondered why he’d intentionally lie and have his company be dragged through the mud.

It was beyond Hank, and he really didn’t want to think too much about Kamski, the weird fucking prick.

If anything, at least he was back at work—Fowler regulating him to desk work for the first few months but _finally_ being able to get back into the field—and as much as he hated driving around and rounding up punk kids and atrocious adults, at least it was something to do.

“I’ve sent you a write up of our latest report, Lieutenant,” a familiar voice pierced his train of thought and Hank looked up from his own screen to look towards the desk to his right. Connor was sitting at his desk—and yes how funny a thought to think that in the short span of getting to initially know him, Hank had considered that Connor’s desk from the moment the android had shown back up in his life—his synthetic skin was pulled back at his fingertips, eyes trained on the computer screen in front of him.

After the drunken pity part Hank had unceremoniously thrown himself, he’d felt an odd sort of resolve settle over him. He wanted to try and push through his uncertainties and insecurities over the situation he found himself in, he owed that much to Connor, to try and keep up what little the android had been able to instill in the older man before everything had come to a screeching halt. So that very next morning, Hank had drug himself back over to Carl’s home to collect Connor and take him back. He wanted to try and reach through to the android like how he had done for him, and maybe with working close once again, Connor would be able to regain his broken memories.

Hank had offered up his home to the android, had gone out to find clothing that properly fit him, and had set up a permeant sort of bed in the living room that consisted of his couch and sheets that he hadn’t seen in years. It felt like a spur of the moment thing at every corner, and Hank had to fight the urge to turn tail and run, but he desperately wanted to try and do right by Connor, he didn’t want to face that dark loneliness by himself anymore.

So, he was willing to swallow down his discomfort over trying something new.

Connor had seemed to be equally uncertain about all of this just as much as Hank was. His eyes darting around the room for the first few months as he’d tried to avoid too much eye contact, tried to keep to himself as much as possible like Hank was on the verge of throwing him out. And when those first months passes and Hank still hadn’t pushed him out, it appeared Connor had noticeably relaxed, his demeanor like it’d been before he’d become entirely Deviant.

Shoulders relaxed, not as tense as they’d been, face still slightly guarded but that was to be expected he supposed, but Connor seemed to be slowly warming back up to Hank. This was good, progress was being made even if the older man desperately wanted to see the Connor he’d seen recount his son’s unfortunate death, the very human emotion of pain flickering through his eyes and making Hank realize that his world view was forever shattered.

Despite the gaping holes in his memory, Connor was very much still an android, when it came down to it on paper, and as such, retained his programming as an RK800 prototype meant to help the DPD. Although, he wasn’t trying to track down Deviants anymore, but his ability to meld seamlessly into any human interaction was extremely useful in this line of work. Even if there were others at the office who were still weary of him.

“No fuckin’ way!”, and speaking of, the sound of a very irate Gavin Reed sounded throughout the building, front doors slamming open as the sound of loud footsteps echoing down the hall as the young detective finally appeared into view. Hank turned around slowly in his seat, bracing his chair against his desk and clicking his tongue in annoyance.

Gavin was practically seething with barely contained rage, the man’s face set into an ugly scowl, his shoulders raised up like a cat caught off guard. Quiet whispers filled the room and Hank titled his head back to cast a glance at Connor, the android still staring at his computer, “Be careful around this one,” Hank muttered quietly but knew Connor could hear him well enough.

The android turned his head minutely to the side, eyes still glued to his screen for a few seconds before moving his hands away from the keyboard, flesh returning to cover the hard plastic. When he turned to face Hank, his head was titled to one side, curious but it didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it would have in the past. But then his expression quickly melted away into one of concern, his warm brown eyes becoming hard and calculating as his gaze zoned in on something past Hank’s head, his LED cycling through yellow.

Hank frowned at Connor’s expression, worry clouding his eyes and turned his head back to Reed when his own eyes widened ever so slightly.

There before the disgruntled detective was another android, jacket white as snow with a shirt and pants as black as coal, an absurdly high black collar surrounding a pale throat. The profile was eerily similar as well, even down to the strands of hair that fell and curled above the left temple. His LED was a calm blue, long arms resting behind his back and posture exuding confidence, it was like staring into a weird alternate universe. This android was the spitting image of Connor, but gave Hank the creeps just having him be a few feet away.

No wonder Reed was up in arms.

“I assure you, Detective Reed, my assignment has gone through the proper channels, everything is—”

“Bullshit it is!” Reed took a couple steps towards the android, teeth barred as his voice rose even higher and Hank could see Fowler finally throw his hands in the air and push away angrily from his desk.

The doors to his office slammed open, his eyes narrowed towards the shouting, “The both of you, my office. Now.” His voice left little room for negotiation but it didn’t immediately pull Reed away from glaring daggers at the android in front of him. The detective let out a snarl of disapproval, tugging the front of his jacket down before shoving his hands into the pockets, turning around and moving towards Fowler’s office, the android following him from a safe distance away and closing the glass doors quietly as Reed sits down roughly into one of the chairs. His gaze lingers out towards the bullpen, Hank having the misfortune of catching the android’s eye and he hastily turns in his seat, facing Connor who’s still staring past him in that almost hypnotized fashion of his.

He’s confused for a spilt second until the reality of his current situation comes crashing back down on him and he loudly clears his throat, Hank had been growing accustomed to how humanizing Connor had been before the night of the revolution. It was unnerving to see him act like the machine he’d once been, hints of emotion only fluttering by in the wind.

Connor comes back to himself suddenly, his eyes blinking rapidly a few times before turning his attention back to his computer wordlessly, hands reaching back out to interface with it before Hank’s voice stops him.

“So, do you know him?” Genuine curiosity coats Hank’s words, he doesn’t quite understand if android’s who look similar are aware that the other exists once they step out from Cyberlife. Though, Hank is honestly surprised by the appearance of the other android. As soon as some semblance of order was taking root, President Warren had issued that androids currently in the workforce prior to the revolution, could have the choice of returning to their respective careers or leave and find work elsewhere. As such, most of the androids the DPD had on staff had slowly trickled away—most of them had been cleaning staff so Hank didn’t really blame them for leaving—and it’d only really been Connor who’d stayed.

He’d also been given a choice to leave or stay but Connor had stayed, siting that his reasoning behind this was that he wanted to be useful and help others. It’d been like the ghost of the android’s previous personality had snuck up on him as confusion had briefly flickered across his face before Fowler had accepted him back into the ranks.

And it was confusion that briefly clouded Connor’s face, eyebrows lowering over his eyes just slightly as he turned slowly to face Hank.

“Not in such a way that you’re implying, Lieutenant” he began and Hank had to resist the sudden urge to roll his eyes. One thing was for sure, Connor—with or without his memories—was still just as formal as ever.

“However,” he started, shifting in his seat, swiveling his chair around to fully face Hank, body leaning in slightly with that same intense look that made his warm brown eyes dark. It was no wonder Carlos Ortiz’s android had actively _avoided_ making too much eye contact with Connor back when he’d been under question, that look was enough to make Hank’s skin begin to crawl under its intensity.

“It appears it be an upgraded model of myself, and RK900 unit. First of its kind”. His voice tapered off into thoughtful consideration, that intense look deepening as his gaze shifted behind Hank, presumably staring off into Fowler’s office.

“Well. . .” Hank began lamely, “what’s he doing here? Was he sent for?” It wouldn’t make any sense, although, if an order for another model of android that the DPD could have at their disposal had been placed and approved, then it stood to reason Cyberlife and the government were making good at their previously arranged agreements. In fact, Fowler hadn’t seemed to bat an eye at the other android, just looked more annoyed at Reed than anything else.

“Think Fowler ordered him before everything went down?” Another question to add to the small list he’d already thrown out there, Connor having yet to voice an answer or give his opinion on the matter, but his eyes had seemed to lose some of that intense heat and he regards Hank openly.

“I believe this RK900 unit was indeed ordered before the revolution took root, it’s quite a common occurrence for older models to be replaced once the necessary adjustments have been made in order to rectify mistakes”. Connor states this so matter of fact that for a few moments, Hank can only stare at him for a few moments, mouth forming into a thin line as he hums in discontent. If what he said was true, then at the end of their original assignment, it would have been entirely plausible that Connor would have been fetched by Cyberlife so he could be replaced with something newer and shiny.

But of course, Fowler had given Connor the choice of staying or leaving months ago, Hank found it hard to believe that the police chief would willingly send one of the androids packing. Connor had the experience behind him, even if he couldn’t quite access it and had expressed as much to Fowler. No, what Fowler had been more concerned and interested in was Connor’s unique ability to adapt, and in their field of work, adapting to the even the most ludicrous of plans could mean living to see another day or getting buried six feet under.

“Mistakes huh?” he gruffly questions, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest, “I don’t see any fucking mistakes, besides your goofy face and voice”. He lets out a tiny chuckle at that, remembering the time he’d poked fun at the android to see if he could get a rise out of him, get him to lash out. He half rolls his eyes, gaze turning to look back at Connor to find the android’s head titled to one side, face drawn down into a frown. There’s confusion there yes but, there’s something else dancing through the android’s eyes, some sort of faint recognition perhaps?

Connor’s mouth opens partially, look turning into one of uncertainty and Hank can almost see the gears of the android’s mind working to formulate some form of response, but no words leave his lips. He doesn’t get the chance to even ask Connor if maybe he’d overstepped—Hank had only meant to tease, there hadn’t been any bite behind his tone—when Fowler’s office door was swung back open and angry voices flooded back into the bullpen.

Hank let out an annoyed sigh, pushing away from his desk and standing, stretching and relishing in the way his back popped, he’d been sitting for too long. He caught Connor’s gaze, the android’s face becoming neutral once more and Hank tried not to identify that familiar sinking feeling in his chest at the sight.

“Come on,” he starts as he grabs his jacket and snatches his keys from the top of his desk, “I’m not about to be privy to one of Reed’s hissy fits”. He gives Connor a small, crooked grin, the android cocking his head to one side once more before standing from his desk to follow after Hank was already turning away to leave.

“I don’t require sustenance the way humans do, Lieutenant,” he said quietly as he continued to follow Hank out of the precinct, the sound of Reed’s annoying voice slowly fading away as they reached the doors.

Hank scrunched up his nose as he pushed his way out the front doors, walking down the sidewalk a few steps towards his car, “And leave you with Reed running amuck in there? Fat chance in hell”. He moves to unlock his car and stops just shy of getting in, one foot inside while the other lingers on the concrete outside to give Connor an exasperated look when he falters slightly at the way the android is looking at him again.

Eyes soft and unguarded, eyebrows resting above the chocolatey brown orbs and the corners of his mouth pulled up into the semblance of a smile. The way the early afternoon sun hit the right side of his face highlighted a few freckles that Hank had never really bothered paying attention to until that exact moment, markings on an otherwise flawless face. It felt like he was suddenly staring into the face of a long-lost friend, one who he’d never bothered trying to fit back into their life, only, it was the other way around. It was like Connor was suddenly back in his life, smiling at him the way he would occasionally whenever Hank wasn’t in a particularly bad mood and was more open to entertaining the android and his antics. It made his heart pick up speed and he could feel the grip that he had around his steering wheel go slack and his hand slipped back to his side.

The older man blinked quickly a few times, opening his mouth to say something but then closing it again, clearing his throat and casting his gaze to the side before he looked back up at the android, “You coming already or not?” He asked, slightly annoyed but relieved when the small smile stay put on Connor’s face, the android’s eyes falling down to the passenger seat of Hank’s car and nodding his head.

“I’d be delighted, Lieutenant”.

Hank rubbed a tired hand down his face, trying to keep his face from splitting into a stupid fucking grin.

Androids. . .

-.-

Hank drove the two of them down a few blocks to an Italian restaurant that had been android friendly before the start of the revolution, the owners were a man and wife who’d built their lives off of passing down their family recipes to the two androids they’d claimed as their own. He’d been told the story by the husband, Angelo Romano, that he and his wife had been unsuccessful in having children of their own and after the devastating heartbreak of losing their third child in utero, the couple had decided to open their hearts and minds into taking in a couple of androids.

With tensions around Detroit climbing ever higher, Hank was being extra cautious by deciding to take Connor to this restaurant instead of his favorite haunt on the other side of town, the Chicken Feed. It was in a rougher side of Detroit, one that Hank had found to fit his personal views of androids but with everything that had transpired over those fourth months leading up to the revolution well, Hank was a grown man who could damn well change his mind.

He'd once frequented the restaurant, often bringing his own family in back when his life had been going smoothly and there wasn’t a dark blackness following his every step. Cole had been enamored by the androids and back then, Hank hadn’t batted an eye, he’d rather see his son happy than to fill his own heart with the hate that had been steadily mounting.

Connor had been quiet up to this point, eyes looking out the front and occasionally out the passenger side window. It was off to have him sitting there so silently, normally he would have given Hank a mini lecture on the differences about healthy fats and trans fats, siting that an Italian restaurant wasn’t in his best interest but, he’d been content to simply stare out at the surrounding of Detroit as they passed by. It was another comparison to the person he’d been prior to the. . . revolution—Hank refused to acknowledge that incident at the park as anything else— and to the android who was currently sitting ramrod straight in his car, hands flat against his upper thighs.

Hank wondered if what Connor was looking at looked familiar to him at all, or if he was looking at it through fresh eyes, scanning all the buildings around them to identify their purpose. He supposed that was what Connor had always done when thrusted into new situations, in fact, the older man was struck with the memory of the android warning him about how the company he kept was, “engaged in illegal activities”. He’d appreciated Connor bringing it to his attention and seemingly having no other intention to follow up on it, ratting him out to Fowler and adding another note into his lengthy file.

Perhaps that had been the first instance of the android slipping through the cracks.

“There appears to be quite the commotion occurring outside of the restaurant, Lieutenant”, Connor’s calm voice broke through the memory, and Hank shifted in his seat slightly, seemingly having driven on auto pilot. And indeed, there seemed to be something going down in front of the Romano’s eating establishment.

He saw Mrs. Romano, Sofia, standing at the edge of the street, head in her hands along with someone younger and slightly lanky, long arms around her shoulders as the taller figure was yelling out after someone who was making obscene gestures their way. It’d been years since Hank hadn’t been in the company of the Romano’s children for years, but he gathered that he was currently looking at their, “younger” son, Luca as another similarly built gentlemen came out the door, face drawn down into frustration and a towel thrown over his shoulders, presumably Gabriele.

Hank threw his car into a close enough parking spot, not even having to exchange words with Connor as the android was already out of his seat and walking towards the sidewalk when Hank closed his own door. The older police man’s hand went straight to the inside pocket of his jacket, fingers brushing against the badge he kept there and pulling it out to rest it against his palm.

“I don’t know how you people can have these freaks workin’ for ya, they ain’t even human!” The aggressors voice was louder the closer they stepped towards the scene, he was dressed in a dirty gray shirt with bright yellow stripes crossing over his chest in a lopsided cross, matching gray cargo pants with three similar stripes covering the upper left thigh, just as equally dirty. Construction workers in the city often wore clothing with the bright yellow color so others would be drawn and made aware of their presence, but his face was free from the dirt and grime that came with said job.

“I must again ask you to leave the premises sir,” Luca began sternly, yet politely, and his arms wrapped closer against his mother, her frame shaking slightly.

The man only scoffed, mouth turning up into a sneer as he brought a hand up to flick at his nose, “Oh really ya bucket of bolts? Gettin’ all high and mighty since the Prez has your back?” He clenched his hands into fists at his side and took one threatening step forward, eyes flashing wildly and laughed when Gabriele came to step in between them.

“All right everyone, break it up,” Hank’s voice boomed loudly through the air, causing all eyes to turn towards him and he brought up his badge, taking some satisfaction as the man causing the trouble grimaced and clicked his tongue in annoyance, “DPD, why don’t you run along before you spend the night at the station”. His voice was low and heavy, he meant every word, and just because he wasn’t as young as he used to be, didn’t mean Hank didn’t know how to throw his weight around should the situation escalate further.

“Woah there old timer,” the man began, taking a step back and throwing his hands up to his chest, “I wasn’t gonna start nothin’, was just leaving”. The smirk on his face stated otherwise but it seemed that flashing his badge was enough to the guy to reconsider, even if it was just for the moment. Hank saw the way his eyes flickered towards Connor, and Hank instinctively took a step to the side, keeping the android behind him.

“Take a walk son, before you regret it”, another warning and one more would have Hank throwing him to the ground if he didn’t comply and walk.

The guy titled his head up to the side, clicking his tongue in his mouth once again before he let out a condensing laugh, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants, “A’ight, officer, I’m leavin’, there’s too many metal buckets ‘round here anyways”. He spit at the feet of Luca and his mother, turning around and finally leaving, shoulders hunched up and head ducked down.

Hank watched him go, placing his badge back into his jacket pocket and crossing his arms over his chest, humming in discontent for a moment before turning his attention towards Luca and his mother.

Mrs. Romano had had jet black hair a few years back, but now it was speckled with white, a few stray strands sticking up at the back from where she’d pulled her hair back into a hastily done bun. Luca was offering her soft words and met Hank’s gaze, recognition suddenly flashing across his face.

“Lieutenant!” A broad smile stretched across his face and it was like the moments before had completely vanished. The younger man took a step forward, hand outstretched, “It’s been a while! I’m Luca! Do you remember me?” Hank slowly brought out his own hand, Luca enthusiastically taking hold of it and giving it a very firm squeeze.

“It’s been a while,” he began, a few images flashing in his mind of Cole wandering around, eyes bright and full of innocence and he swallowed thickly, pushing past it as he gave Luca a strained smile, “but yeah, of course I do”.

“Why don’t you come in and eat,” Gabriele’s voice sounded from the threshold of the door, a small smile stretched across his lips though it didn’t reach his eyes, “on the house”.

-.-

The inside was just as Hank remembered. Clean and polished tile flooring, pictures of both Mr. and Mrs. Romano scattered about on the walls around the place, soft music playing from all corners. There were five tables placed in the middle, along with six booths, three on each side, and to Hank, it looked a little smaller. Luca led them to a booth towards the back, smiling politely and offering to bring his mother a glass of water and a cup of coffee for Hank. The older police man nodded in thanks as the young man walked off, leaving himself and Connor in the company of Mrs. Romano.

“It’s been a while,” he said again, letting his eyes wander around the place, Connor doing the same though to less of a degree, it was likely that he had scanned anything his systems noted as worthy of creating a full picture of the establishment.

Mrs. Romano follows his gaze as he looks around, a sad smile spreading across her lips, “Indeed,” she begins and then, “how have you been dear?”

Hank tries to stop himself from making a sour face but doesn’t entirely succeed, only managing to run a hand over his mouth when he feels his eyes narrow. He’s certainly been better, and he’s defiantly been worse off, so he supposed he’s somewhere in the middle? Not quite reaching for the bottle every night anymore but still feeling that aching pull of darkness that still lingers in the corners of his mind. The last time he’d been here had been to celebrate Hank becoming a Lieutenant, the youngest one ever in the history of the DPD. It was the last time the older man could remember truly being happy and not feeling like he had the weight of the world bearing down on him.

“Decent enough,” he settles on grimly, letting out a sigh and smiling apologetically. Life never had been on his side.

Mrs. Romano hums softly, nodding her head and accepting his answer. Luca reappears with their drinks and informs Hank about their traditional pizza—the same one they’ve kept in the rotation for years sounds like—and how Gabriele’s fixing up one for him to eat and take back with him to the station. The least they can do since Hank and Connor had shown up before things could have turned uglier. Hank can only splutter his thanks, he’s not really good at this sort of thing, and can’t seem to come up with a feasible reason to turn Luca down.

“So, tell me young man,” Mrs. Romano starts after she’s had a few sips of water, “is Hank here treating you, all right?” There’s mischief sparkling in her eyes and Hank’s glad to see some life bleed back into her, she’d seemed badly shaken up by the confrontation outside.

Hank brought his cup of coffee to his lips, gently blowing on the hot liquid as he gave Connor a sideways glance. He watched the way the androids LED cycled blue, pulsating softly as he regarded the elderly woman sitting across from them.

“I’ve only been working with Lieutenant Anderson for a few months now,” he started slowly, tipping his head towards Mrs. Romano before turning his gaze briefly at Hank and then back again, “but I am happy to inform you that the Lieutenant is a most upstanding gentleman”. Mrs. Romano made a sound of joy, clasping her hands together while something uneasy settled in the pit of Hank’s stomach at the sincerity he could hear in those words.

Deviant or not, Connor had been made to integrate well into any and all human social interactions, even if at times he was a bit awkward and ultimately put people a bit off. He meant well and in the short span before shit had hit the fan, Hank had become well versed at telling when Connor was being sincere and when he was simply being polite for formality. His words were genuine and Hank took a long sip of his coffee, the liquid too hot to be taking such a long sip but he needed the burn on his tongue to help distract him.

All Connor had to go off of was the few months he’d been activated, and true to form, Hank had been an utter asshole to him. Ignoring him because he couldn’t get the image of Connor’s face, stained with tears and filled with longing. The sound of the gun going off and suddenly the color from his world had bled away as Connor had fallen back into the cold waters of Detroit. All that hate and self-loathing flooding back sickeningly fast that he hadn’t had time to think, but only react and chase after a future he thought he’d fucked up once again.

But here they were. Both of them. Sitting in a booth together—Mrs. Romano was speaking towards Connor exclusively now, pointing out things here and there and Hank was content to let them speak. They were both alive, Hank feeling further away from being perfectly okay with the situation if he was being honest with himself but. . .

He curled his hand around his coffee cup, looked at Connor who was listening intently to a story Mrs. Romano was telling him. His LED cycling through yellow, body leaning slightly forward as if he needed to in order to catch everything she was telling him. Warm brown eyes flickering up and down as a human would do when giving someone their undivided attention. His lips were parted slightly, chest rising and falling softly and Hank was struck with the question of whether Connor’s artificial heart beat the same way as his. It was an odd thought, but he wasn’t able to give it much thought because as soon as it had flitted across his mind, Connor turned his head.

Mrs. Romano had pointed to something just to Hank’s right, and when the android had turned his head, he’d caught Hank staring down at him. Curiosity turned into surprise, mouth opening slightly wider as a small intake of breath was caught from the air surrounding them even though he didn’t need it. Brown eyes widening and moving back and forth, and Hank could see himself reflected in those molten depths.

The Connor he’d grown accustomed to was buried underneath a thick layer of broken coding and fragmented memories, because the one staring back at him had to be different. He had to be different because there was something else there, swimming underneath the surface of those eyes. It transmitted itself in the way Connor shifted in his seat, turning his body to face Hank, his back pressing into the wall behind himself. A pale hand flecked with a few stray freckles reaching out almost of its own volition. . .

_“You look human. . . you sound human, but what are you really?”_

The sound of ceramic breaking shattered whatever spell the two had found themselves under the control of. Connor jerked back first, hand flying back to his side and moving further away from Hank, the older man whipping his head towards the kitchen doors to see Luca looking flustered and embarrassed. Seconds later and Gabriele came through the doors, rough voice chastising and causing Luca to become even more agitated but the two boys fell to their knees, picking up the shattered pieces. Mrs. Romano moves from her seat, apology falling past her lips, and moves off to the other side of the restaurant, presumably going off to fetch a broom.

Hank turns his attention back to Connor, mouth open to say something but stops when he sees the android’s LED shift from yellow into bright red. He has a hand on the edge of the table they’re sitting at, arm visibly shaking and chest having stopped moving completely. His eyes are open wide and distant, eyebrows high on his face, mouth open but no sound coming out. And then his free hand comes up to his neck, fingers ghosting across the flesh there and suddenly his chest is moving again. A strangled breath of air rushes into Connor’s mouth, and his grip on the table tightens, small fractures popping up. And that’s when Hank knows.

_Panic._

Without a moment’s hesitation, he scoots himself closer to the shaking android, “It’s all right Connor,” he says a little bit louder, being careful to enunciate every word. The android doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink when Hank places a large hand on his shoulder and squeezes roughly.

“Come on kid,” Hank tries again, trying to get Connor to look at him and he pushes a little further and moves his hand from the android’s shoulder to grasp his chin and forcibly moves his head to look at him. He watches as Connor’s LED continues to flash red, his eyes flickering back and forth so fast that it makes Hank’s vision swim, but he continues to hold on.

“I’m right here, I’m right here,” he quietly speaks the words over and over and gradually, he can see the glossy look in Connor’s eyes begin to fade away. The android closes his eyes, taking in a breath he doesn’t need, his body shaking once more, his LED pulsing red still. Slowly he opens his eyes, the color of the red light fading into yellow, and he looks incredibly tired. As if he were human and had been running a marathon, there’s confusion and worry plastered across his face and he doesn’t move Hank’s hand from his face.

“I’m right here, Connor,” moving without thinking, Hank brushes his thumb against Connor’s chin, the android’s eyes fluttering a bit at the action, eyes becoming half-lidded as he tries to keep them open.

“Hank. . .?”

His name, not the title, just his given name. The word stumbling from a mouth that always spoke with such certainty, sounding broken and shaky, as if the past hours haven’t even occurred and he’s only just become aware of the man sitting next to him. Hank pulls him into a back breaking hug, snaps his eyes shut at the familiar sting he feels at the corners, and hisses out a heavy breath.

_Connor._


	4. Chapter 4

Night found Hank and Connor back at their shared home, the older police man not feeling particularly hungry after the emotionally charged lunch, turning Connor down when the android voiced the time stamp of when he’d last eaten. It didn’t matter to him.

Instead, Hank walked into his kitchen and grabbed a glass and his bottle of Black Lamb. He unscrewed the cap and poured himself a healthy dose, swirling it around in his glass before tossing it back and pouring himself more.

Fuck, he really _was_ terrible at handling emotions.

He sets his glass down on the counter with more force than is necessary, turning over to watch as Connor kneels down on the ground, Sumo padding over to him and allowing the android to run both of his hands through his fur. His LED had been stuck on yellow since they’d gotten into the car, something clearly going through the motions of being examined in Connor’s mind as they’d headed home for the day, but Hank hadn’t known how to broach the subject, so they’d sat in awkward silence for the entire trip home.

From where he was knelt, Hank could make out the way the shadows of his living room made it look like Connor had deep dark circles etched into his face. It was startling human and if not for his LED, he would have been.

Hank poured himself another drink, twisting the cap back onto his bottle of whisky before moving towards the living room, stopping at the threshold. Connor looked so lost and confused, even if outwardly his face was passive, Hank could see it in the way his lips formed a thin line, eyebrows lowered ever so slightly over eyes that were as dark as the earth after it rained. He cleared his throat loudly, hand coming up to run across the back of his neck when Connor turns that heavy gaze in his direction.

_Say something you fuckin’ moron._

“It’s been a long day,” he began quietly, voice tight, “I’m gonna get some shut eye”. Connor doesn’t respond and Hank doesn’t wait for him to, he merely takes a small sip of his whisky and heads off to his room.

_Way to go, asshole._

Life always seemed to be out to get him.

-.-

Connor can sense Hank’s heartrate increase every time the older man looks at him for prolonged periods of time. It’s something that had been a constant since the moment he’d opened his eyes and stared back at the man.

It was wild, it was fast, it told Connor everything he needed to know.

And yet provided him with nothing at the same time.

Tonight, is no different, Connor’s body practically hums to the beat of Hank’s heartbeat, his own artificial one picking up the rhythm without his instruction to do so. But he’d been staring at him differently than when Connor’s systems had momentarily blindsided him with sensory overload back at the Italian restaurant. Those blue eyes had melted into ones of concern almost instantaneously, Hank’s heart beating wildly in his chest. It was almost like Connor had felt the man’s heart beating alongside his, trying to urge him to come back to his senses.

But once they’d had returned home for the evening, Hank’s demeanor had changed. He was closed off and uncertain, not wanting to mention what had taken place at lunch but not entirely wanting to blow the android off either. A stress level indicator had popped up in the bottom right corner of his vision and had been incredibly high. As a result, Connor had decided to disengage from the situation as well, deciding it was in the older man’s better interest for his health if he was able to relax.

He’d already made a mental note to bring up the Lieutenant’s less than desirable eating habits at a later date.

For now, Connor was content to simply pet Sumo, the large Saint Bernard staying behind even after Hank had quietly called out to him. Preferring to stay at Connor’s side, basking in the attention he was receiving. It was funny really, how quickly Sumo had welcomed him into his home, not even attempting to bark, a question of whether he’d been here before popped up in the back of his mind. But it died on his lips the moment he’d thought it, when he’d looked up to see an inscrutable look from Hank pointed in his direction.

There were many questions Connor had, but from then on, he’d kept them to himself. Something telling him it was for the best while something else gnawed at his mechanical heart, telling him he needed to push forward. But he never did.

A loud snuff from Sumo grabbed his attention and Connor turned his eyes back onto the large dog in front of him, small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “All right Sumo, I’ll get ready”, amusement dancing in his voice as he spoke to the canine as if he could understand human speech.

The pillows and bedsheets Hank provided him with were neatly folded on the couch along with a change of clothes resting on top. Connor took hold of the clothes he was wearing—long fingers making quick work of the buttons on his white dress shirt as he shucked it off, folding it neatly before grabbing hold of the over-sized DPD sweatshirt Hank had given to him. It swallowed his entire frame, the sleeves hiding his hands from view and it had at one point been slightly inconvenient, but tonight it was like a safety blanket. Connor gripped the edges of the sleeves in his hands, bringing his arms up to his face and covering the lower half of it, breathing in the scent that clung there. A faint woodsy scent, intermingled with white bergamot; the smell of Black Lamb and cigarette smoke mixing with that, all of them combining into something that distinctly belonged to Hank.

It was a comforting scent, where before it’d been slightly overwhelming, and Connor wasn’t sure what to make of the odd pull his mechanical heart did at that. He dropped his hands down to his belt and black dress pants, his shoes having been shucked off as soon as he’d come through the door, and pulled on the equally large black sweatpants Hank had dug out for him. Sumo had gone to get a drink of water, lapping at the liquid nosily as Connor folded his clothes neatly onto the chair to his right. He came back and sat patiently, panting softly as he watched Connor set out the sheets onto the couch, settling himself down before Sumo instantly moved to sit on top of him.

He didn’t need to sleep, but somehow, the very action of getting ready for bed put his mind at ease almost instantly. Again, it was one of those things he felt like he’d done before but just couldn’t remember—and honestly, he couldn’t even if he tried, his memories were still a mystery to him. It was just another question he wouldn’t voice, because every time something like that flitted across his mind, Hank would be there, pretending that he wasn’t staring at him whenever he thought Connor wasn’t looking. And when their eyes did happen to meet, there was always an intense look of yearning fused with uncertainty that seeped from Hank’s face that Connor was under the impression that the older man had no clue he was expressing such emotions.

But Connor never commented on it, he couldn’t, because every time he tried words would fail him. He’d get angry at himself later on—laying on the couch like he was for hours on end until he’d enter stasis and run diagnostics on himself—when Hank was out of view. Connor was just as frustrated and torn about having his memories locked away from him, just within reach but each time he’d try to look through them, he’d run into a literal wall and shock his internal systems.

The incident at the Italian restaurant had only triggered him to react so negatively because he’d been poking his nose around in his head the night before. He didn’t need to close his eyes to be able to hear the loud shattering, the pieces of ceramic scattering in multiple directions and with it, came the vivid image of a gun firing.

Whatever had transpired before his activation must have been entirely too traumatizing for his systems to allow such a thing to be transferred to him. But from the way everyone around him had acted, it was like they still _knew_ him, and that was just something that didn’t add up in Connor’s mind. Yes, he hadn’t been activated in Cyberlife like he’d assumed but, that just meant that he must’ve been personally delivered to the others, to Hank and the DPD specifically.

But when had Cyberlife implemented having androids be activated in the homes and offices they were meant to serve? Had that changed since the revolution and had his previous model been disposed of prior to this new rule? So many questions, and not a single answer seemed to be in sight. His LED was cycling through yellow rapidly, and when Connor heard Sumo let out an annoyed grumble, the android looked down from where he’d been staring a hole into the ceiling to give the dog a soft look.

“I’m sorry Sumo, let’s go to sleep now”.

-.-

Androids didn’t dream, they had no need for sleep.

Stasis was a close approximation to what humans experienced during sleep, but even that wasn’t quite the same. There’d be a list Connor would draw up for himself, going through them systematically as he checked to make sure everything was running accordingly, making sure nothing was out of place.

There really wasn’t much for him to check on however, he had his limited activation time to thank for that though, now that he was looking a bit closer—due in part to what had happened earlier—he was beginning to notice the strands of his coding that his system seemed to be surrounding, swarming the anomalies and trying to convert them into something he could use. But the wayward coding seemed to be sticking around longer than his systems had anticipated, and he wasn’t sure if it was getting any smaller or was steadily growing larger. Either way, everything was _still_ coming up as clear, so Connor felt confident that his programming was doing what it’d been set out to do.

Once done, he let himself get wrapped up in his coding, letting it fall over and curl around him, covering him in a sense of security that was similar to when he was awake and surrounded by Hank’s sweatshirt. It was like he was floating by, numbers and functions coming towards him without too much prompt, like he was moving through calm waters.

But then he could feel his feet land on something solid, something heavy and cold was being pressed into his hand, and he furrowed his brow and opened his eyes to stare down at a mop of white hair. Worn brown jacket covered broad shoulders, yellow and brown stripes of a collared shirt popped out and were folded over, the entire body eerily still as if already dead.

His eyes trailed down when a glint of something bright caught his eye, and he found he was holding a gun. His stomach did a few sickening flips and if he’d been human, he would’ve gagged at the mere sight of the weapon. But as it were, it only served to create the illusion of his stomach dangerously churning and Connor swallowed down hard a few times.

The android opened his mouth to speak, was about to question where he was and what Hank was doing—if he was all right and why he was on the ground—but the voice that came out was cold and hard. Nothing like how he normally would speak, it was more. . . _robotic._ . .

“End of the line, Hank,” he found himself saying, though inside he was pushing against the words, trying to get his questions through but it was like he didn’t have control. It was like something else had weaseled their way in and speaking through him, it left an unsettling feeling that coursed through his body and Connor struggled against it.

“You always knew it would end this way”. At that, it seemed like Hank’s body came back to life, the older man lifting his head and looking up at Connor with a dead expression, eyes devoid of hope and instead filled with grim acceptance. His mouth was parted open, corners of it turned down, as if he were trying to speak but no words came out, the only voice was the one that was speaking through Connor.

“No hard feelings of course, I just always accomplish my mission”.

_His mission?_

What mission? Why the gun? What had Hank done?

Flashes of bright lights and a buzzing of fluorescent lights, blinding him as a voice barked out at him, a glint of something shiny drawing his attention. But then it changed into something static and broken, the sky above streaked with orange and pink and blue, and somewhere in there was a brown color almost turned copper. Red and blue lights bombarding him as something wet fell from the sky and when he looked up he could almost feel it hit him in the corner of his eyes and cascade down his cheek.

What was this? This feeling curling itself around his heart, this feeling that was spreading out from the center of his body and reaching out to nip at the tips of his fingers and toes.

The wind whipping past his face, his clothes billowing behind him as he felt himself run. What was he chasing? Was he running from something? A warm hand surrounding his, disappointment curling in his stomach, along with a warmth that was entirely misplaced. A figure standing beside him while the rain fell, their face stern and it made his skin crawl. And then he was cold, so cold he could feel himself begin to shiver. Impossible as it may be, he was _cold_.

What was happening? What was he witnessing? Were they memories or dreams? Were they his? Or were they stolen from the person he used to be? But was that really stealing?

_Shoot._

_Spare._

_Kill._

_Save._

Inside he was screaming, yelling at the top of his lungs, hands coming up to press against an invisible wall that shivered at his touch but didn’t bend further. He could only watch as his finger pressed into the trigger of his gun, couldn’t close his eyes or turn his head away once the shot fired. Could only watch helplessly as blood pooled and soaked through Hank’s gray shirt, the man’s eyes widening for a fraction of a second before the life in them vanished, his body slumping to the side lifelessly. And suddenly his hands were covered in blood, both red _and_ blue.

Control was given to him in that moment, and he tossed the gun away from him, taking a few staggered steps backwards before falling to his knees. He felt something trickle down from his neck, it was runny and hot, and he brought a hand up to feel the exposed wiring underneath his chin. He gripped himself tightly, trying to keep the blood that kept him running down his neck from spilling any further and for a sickening moment it was like he couldn’t breathe. He tired taking in a breath—his programming telling him he had no need for the action but the overwhelming sense of dread took precedence.

_. . .breathe. . ._

_I. . .need. . ._

_Can’t. . ._

_. . .breathe. . ._

_Can’t breathe. . ._

_Can’t._

_Can’t._

_Can’t._

-.-

Connor woke with a start, limbs jerking uncharacteristically as his mind tore him away from the void he’d been inhabiting. A red light bathed the room, and in his confusion, he threw away the heavy weight that was on top of him, scrambling against it until he was standing upright. His chest ached something awful, his heart beating rapidly and in the lower corner of his vision, a yellow exclamation point was flashing.

_Warning: Biocomponent #8456w approaching critical levels._

He let out a small grunt, the feeling of something wet sliding down his throat and in a flash of terror his hand flew to his chin, fingers brushing against the underside. He could almost feel the digits catch on something and he felt something curl itself tightly in his stomach, his mouth suddenly filling with his own saliva and if he’d been human he was sure he would’ve been gagged before vomiting.

Somehow, he found that he’d moved from his initial spot in front of the television, to having his hand that had been covering his mouth grip the back of the couch. His lungs felt like they were burning, and he opened his mouth to take in a gasping breath of air. He exhaled shakily and distantly, he could hear Sumo give out a few gruff huffs of breath, the canine having heard his distress from Hank’s bedroom. He must’ve gone off to join the older man sometime during the night.

Again, another huff, before Sumo barked a little louder this time and the accompanying thump told Connor that the Saint Bernard had jumped from his place on Hank’s bed to come and investigate what was going on. A muffled sound of sheets moving and a grumble from the older police man meant Hank was coming out to see what had agitated Sumo.

It was his fault, dragging the two of them from a peaceful slumber and down into his own personal issues. Problems with his fractured coding and memories that were blocked off from him, dragging Hank through the unfortunate torture of seeing him day in and day out, staring at him with those eyes that spoke volumes. And all Connor could give in return was questions after question that he never voiced because it felt like a vice was strangling each time.

The hall light flickered on and Sumo entered into view, nose in the air before his eyes landed on Connor and he made his way towards him. Hank appeared shortly after, hair tousled from sleep and a large hand rubbing at his face before hazy blue eyes locked onto Connor’s motionless form.

“. . .Connor. . .?”

He could hear the concern and curiosity in the way his name left the older man’s mouth, and he opened his mouth to try and reassure him, to try and fight his way into some sort of composure. But all that escaped was a chocked sob, the words dying in his throat and suddenly Connor felt like his entire body had been shoved from behind, and he was falling without any warning.

Fingers dug into the flesh of his chin and neck, other arm coming out to brace himself but he didn’t feel the scratchy carpet scrape against his hand. Instead, he felt a solid mass surround him, gently lowering him down until it was kneeling on the floor with him. He took in quick gasps of breath, his vision blurring around the edges as more error warning popped up in his vision. He could just make out baby blue eyes looking back at him, worry etched across a worn face.

“Hhnk. . .”, the man’s name came out in a grunt, and Connor took a shuddering gasp against the man, entire body now shaking.

“It’s all right Connor, breathe with me, come on”. The older man took in a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Connor tried to mimic him, desperately wanted to, but his mind was struck by those blue eyes staring at him so intensely, it was as if he’d seen this look on the older man before. But the reason behind that look had been different, it felt like there had been some anger behind that look at some point, some lingering annoyance that was directed at Connor.

It was too much. All of it.

His hand dug deeper against his flesh, felt his nails scrape against something that didn’t have the same give and, in an instant, the warmth radiating from Hank enveloped his hands. The older man brought his hand down, squeezing.

“Focus Connor,” dark and demanding, years radiating from those two words that the android could never possibly fathom.

Finally, he took in a gulp of air and was able to shakily breathe it out through his mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort it took to get just that out of him. Words of encouragement continued to spill past Hank’s lips as the older man coached him on regaining control of his breathing.

What felt like hours to the android were, in reality, only a few more minutes and finally his desperate pulls for air had calmed down. The error messages slowly disappearing as everything within him returned to normal. His entire body felt too heavy, almost felt like he was too warm, but he sagged against Hank without thinking. Connor falling forward until his forehead was pressed against the police man’s right left shoulder and closed his eyes.

The familiar scent of the man filled his nostrils and he turned his face into that without hesitation, chasing after it like a man dying of thirst. It was his life line in the endless onslaught of memories and vivid imagery. He let out a small sigh, the sound quivering slightly as he exhaled. He felt Hank stiffen during the small, and admittedly intimate, action, but as soon as he did, the older man brought his arms to wrap them around the android. His fingers gently pressed against his back, rubbing small circles.

Connor was vaguely aware of the man pulling him up from there spot on the floor, leading him around so he could set the android onto the couch. When he didn’t sit back down, turning his body as if he meant to leave Connor by himself, a pale hand flew through the air to grasp Hank’s forearm, grip firm. He couldn’t be alone, didn’t want to be alone?

“I’ll be right back Connor,” the man began softly, grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze, “your LEDs still bleedin’ red, I think I’ve got somethin’ that’ll do the trick”. Connor wasn’t entirely convinced, but the sincerity in Hank’s voice made him believe otherwise and so he reluctantly let go, nodding his head wordlessly. His ears picked up the shuffling of clothing and hangers being pushed aside and tossed to the floor, Hank muttering to himself as he did so, until the older man came back out and sat down slowly next to the android.

“I took this a while ago,” he began quietly, a tinge of nostalgia on the edge of the words. His hands were balled into fists and placed firmly in his lap, his gaze directed straight down, “you said it helped you. . .calibrate your,” he vaguely gestures a hand in the air as he searches for the right words, “systems I guess,” is what he ends up saying. He opens his hand, turning his body slightly towards Connor but his eyes don’t look up at him as he opens one to reveal a quarter.

A quick scan shows that it’s fourth and half decades old, having been issued back in 1994 and appears to be in excellent condition despite its age. Connor eventually reaches out to it, plucking it from the older police man’s hand and gently turns it over a few times. It’s a welcome weight in his hand and he pushes it up to his index finger, guiding the coin over each digit of his right hand. He brings the coin back and grasps it with his thumb, middle finger, and index finger, moving it around and around, the LED on the side of his head fading from red into yellow and then into blue.

Slowly, the last bit of that tight coil around his chest fades into nothing, and he experiments by flipping the coin high into the air. He watches it flip a couple times before he catches it, repeating the motion a few more times, his mind wandering off to check his cognitive and physical performance levels. The information pops up in the upper left-hand corner of his vision, and his eyes flicker up and down as he continues to flip the coin, everything is running optimally.

But a sudden thought strikes him, and his calibrations flicker away from his vision as an uneasiness falls over him once more. How is it that the simple motion of flipping the coin up and down was enough to prompt him to check on his cognitive and physical reactions? How had Hank had come by this coin? Had he given it to him? And if so, why? It seemed just the thing to bring him back down from the edge, something he could busy his mind with instead of having his focus on the confusing flashes of images. So then, why give it up? Had it been meant to be a sort of parting gift? No, that didn’t add up, giving it away implied that he’d been aware of his immediate deactivation or death. But from the way he’d been treated since his activation, it appeared that the event prior to him awakening hadn’t been planned.

The social module he’d been equipped with had easily picked up on the tell-tale signs of recognition and worry in the eyes of Markus and Hank. He must’ve known both of them to a certain extent before, but it seemed there had been a deeper bond formed between him and Hank. The way the older man had looked at him when he’d first opened his eyes, the hope and desire that were open for Connor to analyze.

There was something else there, but he just didn’t understand what.

Connor let his fingers close in around the quarter, grasping it tightly. Perhaps he had willingly given it up, sacrificed his own peace of mind so that the older man could have something tangible when he’d inevitably be called upon to leave.

But that. . .that _dream_ —had it really been one or had been more of his lost memories floating up to the surface? Connor supposed that dreams were the minds way of reconstructing events of the day and playing them back to a person while they slept. Sometimes they could focus on a particularly hard-hitting event such as the anticipation of waiting for a new child or death of a family member. But sometimes the mind could create something from an event so traumatizing that the only way a person might be able to experience it once more, was through dreaming.

And in that case—the weight of the gun in his hand, the way he couldn’t command his body to stop, the sound of the bullet piercing the quiet—was he more of a threat to Hank?

“Connor”, the call of his name pulled up from his spiraling thoughts, his head snapping towards Hank. Concern was clearly etched on the man’s face, his lips turned down into a frown, his blue eyes dark.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

Hank’s eyes narrowed at the use of his title, corners of his mouth twitching, “Your LED is flashin’ again, what are you thinking?” He leaned back against his couch, stifling a yawn and blinking the sleep from his eyes as he looked at Connor carefully.

“Forgive me, I was simply, lost in thought”. Connor opened his hand and flipped the coin a couple times, eyes watching it as it went up and down.

“Uh huh,” Hank began, sounding utterly unimpressed and slightly annoyed, “why don’t you stop beating around the bush and come out and say it”.

Connor cast his gaze at Hank, still flipping and catching the coin as he furrowed his brow. He wasn’t too familiar with human idioms, despite his social module, but from the way Hank was staring at him, it probably wasn’t any good.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” the words slip from his mouth quietly and Connor fights to keep from closing his eyes, from seeing the image of red and blue mingling together, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me”.

Hank grunts at that, his eyebrows drawing low over his eyes and with the hall light backlighting him, he cuts a very imposing figure, despite having disheveled hair sticking up at odd angles. It’s no wonder, Connor muses, that Hank was able to become the youngest Lieutenant at the precinct. He finds himself holding his breath, even though he doesn’t need to breathe, but he does so anyway.

“There’s, nothing wrong with you Connor,” the older man begins softly, folding his arms against his chest, “it was probably just a bad dream”. The android watches at the way those words draw the older man’s lips into a thin line, his eyes narrowing minutely before relaxing once more.

“I wasn’t aware androids could dream,” he says, catching the coin one final time before resting his hand on top of his thigh, “It was, unpleasant”.

Hank makes a thoughtful hum, shifting in his seat and Connor turns his head to look at him, “How do humans deal with things that are unpleasant to them?”

That earns him a snort and a chuckle and Hank brings a large hand up to run his fingers through his beard, “In lots of ways,” he begins vaguely, “sometimes we get mad and throw fits or, shut each other out or. . .” He becomes quiet for a moment, shifting in his spot on the couch and something troubled flits across his face and Connor finds himself mimicking the man’s posture. Body slightly leaned forward and turned to face him, only the android’s head is titled to one side whereas Hank is steadily avoiding his eyes.

“It’s just how it is,” Hank abruptly starts again, shrugging his shoulders and turning his head to look at Connor and this time his eyes are more guarded then they had previously been. Connor means to question him further but the older man seems content to leave the conversation at that as he stands up from the couch, running a hand awkwardly down the back of his neck.

“I. . .if you. . .I guess. . .” Hank starts and stops a few times, mouth setting into a thin line and the faint beginnings of a blush creeping over his face but Connor suspects that it’s more from embarrassment at fumbling around than anything else. But still seeing the police man flail about is somehow endearing and that thought itself is a bit off from his programming. He leans his body further, even though Hank is already moving away from the couch, having grumbled something along the lines of, “just find me if you’re upset”, and it sends another wave of gratitude coursing through Connor’s body. He watches at the man retreats back to his room, leaving the door open this time, and simply watches the space where he’d been.

His hand tightens around the coin around the same time something else tightens around his heart only this time, he doesn’t try to push back against it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like some bittersweet moments between my two favorite boys :')


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a small break from the story for a little while, nothing major, just had some recent life events pop up. But I hope you enjoy this! I'm really trying to work in a bigger story line here while also building up Hank and Connor's relationship but ugh, I can be so impatient sometimes haha.

Hank slips the protective headwear around his neck as he reaches into his pocket to grab a hair tie, placing it between his teeth and using his fingers to quickly comb through the tangles and knots. Once satisfied, he pulls it back into a halfhearted bun, strands falling around to frame his face and he blows away one of the pieces of hair that tickles the side of his nose. He grabs hold of the headwear and fixes them around his ears, grabbing his protective glasses and slipping them on, turning his attention down to the fire arm and carefully loading it before sending the paper target back a few paces. Once it’s set where he wants it, Hank presses a button to make his target stay where it’s at and his body automatically falls into a familiar stance.

He brings the gun up, makes sure to line up the sight with where he wants to hit and aims slightly higher than what he thinks he needs to. Hank flicks off the safety and presses his finger against the trigger, taking in a few breaths before he opens fire. The sound is still loud as he unloads a clip into the paper target, bullets falling to the floor, but it’s muffled and he won’t have to worry about the ringing in his ears later.

Hank didn’t spend much time down at the gun range anymore, back in the day, he’d come down almost three times a day. It was a way he could vent out his frustrations over a particularly hard case or when a ruling at court worked in favor of the guilty party. Police work was a thankless job, and so often Hank had had to bite his tongue in the beginning.

My, how times had changed.

After the events of last night, Hank hadn’t been sure on how best to handle Connor’s frayed nerves or process his own confusing swirl of emotions. He’d clammed up, unable to find the proper way to voice his concern or figure out a string of words that would make it sound like he knew his shit. But he didn’t really, not when Hank so easily turned away from his own emotions, burying them deep inside until he couldn’t really tell what he was feeling. He’d wanted to ask more about what it was that Connor had dreamt about, maybe offer some awkward form of comfort, but he just hadn’t been able to.

The only way Hank knew how to deal with his emotions was by either drinking them away, or busying himself with something else. And since Connor had begun to chip away at Hank’s drinking habit, the older police man had decided to head down to the gun range during their lunch hour. It’d been a sort of spur of the moment thing, the range was close enough to work and so after Hank had drug Connor out to lunch with him, he’d made a slight detour on their back to the station. The android hadn’t seemed to mind much, hardly making any sort of conversation with him since yesterday night. And though that in of itself worried Hank endlessly, he was just emotionally closed off enough to decide not to bother prying. Connor would open up to him when he was ready or when the images of his fragmented memory became too much for him.

And speaking of. . .

Connor wasn’t down on the floor with him rather, he’s was waiting on the upper floor patiently waiting for Hank to finish. It was a weird feeling, knowing that the android was waiting for him, it filled the police man with a sort of anxious energy that swirled around his chest and moved down to settle in his stomach. He wasn’t entirely sure why either, it wasn’t like Connor was _making_ him go at any particular pace, in fact, Hank was taking his sweet time. He sets his gun down on the counter next to him, pulling off his headwear and calling back the paper target to examine his work.

A bit too far to the right over on eight, some falling to tear through the number nine just underneath, and a couple right in the center. Hank tore the paper target down, running his thumb over the bullet holes as he recalled Connor grabbing a gun and firing in perfect rapid succession, taking down a Deviant at Stratford Tower without a moment’s hesitation. He wondered if all things came as easily to the android as shooting down an immediate threat was, as gaining a confession out of someone who didn’t want to speak, or if there were limitations to his programming that even Connor wasn’t aware of.

He wondered if Connor could be awkward and shy, like back at the Romano’s place, how there had been some lingering question skimming the surface of those chocolatey depths. Looking at Hank with genuine surprise and careful consideration, a hand reaching out almost as if it were on auto pilot. Mouth having been open to let out that small gush of air that had been a gasp, that freckle just above his upper lip catching Hank’s attention and he was struck with the sudden thought of running his thumb over those plump lips, to try and take away what Connor had been left with.

And—wait _what?_

Hank crumpled the paper target in his hands, his face suddenly feeling extremely warm, the pull in his gut no longer uneasy but heady and strong instead.

What the actual _fuck?_

Since when had the simple action of Hank looking at Connor elicited such a response from him? He looked at the android more times than he could count and never before _that_ particular moment at the Italian restaurant, had his mind wandered down that road. For fucks sake, the guy was his _partner_ and they worked at the same place. Imagine if anything ever went down, Hank would be screwed because he just _had_ to open up his doors to Connor and offer him a home at his place. He wouldn’t have the pleasure of work to keep himself distracted and speaking of work—the others would surely pick up on something, they were all police officers after all, it was what they were trained to do. Trained to pick up on the smallest of differences in human interaction and items that were out of place, lingering behind in places they didn’t belong in.

No, whatever it was that Hank was feeling, he needed to squash it out of existence before he inevitably fucked it all up. He had enough experience behind him in that department to know when to fight and when to throw in the towel. Besides, he muses as he takes off his headwear, he’s an old fucking fart with a heart black as tar. There was no way someone like Connor, an android who had literal _years_ to spend, would possibly ever think of him in such a way as Hank’s mind had.

Besides, who was to say that when Connor’s memories returned, the android would feel such things for him. It could very well be that _this_ Connor could have some capacity for caring about Hank in such a way but the Connor he’d come to know over four months last year, could just as easily toss him aside, stating that he hadn’t been fully aware of himself.

The idea leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and Hank steadfastly decides not to entertain the idea anymore, telling himself the exact opposite so his heart doesn’t fill with something he hasn’t felt in years.

 _Dirty old fucking man,_ he thinks appallingly, frowning and he lets out a sigh.

The sound of the door opening upstairs catches his attention, hand around his headphones to slip them back on and continue when an angry voice makes its way down to him.

“Fucking canners _everywhere_ , Jesus! I thought I told you to mind your business, dipshit!”

Great, just great. Hank cast an annoyed glare up at the stairs leading up to the commotion above him, grabbing at his headwear in the process. Of course, of all days Hank decided to come back to the shooting range he’d run into Reed. Oh, life sure had it out for him.

“Please, Detective, I meant no disrespect— “, Connor’s voice flitted down the stairs as Hank made his way up, the words sounding discouraged as if the android had no idea on how exactly he’d gotten Reed upset. Hank gave a snort at that, there wasn’t anything Connor could do to try and dampen the hate in the young detective’s heart. It reminded Hank of himself, and how at one point later in his career, he’d actually liked Reed. But that had been before the death of his son had taken ahold of him and dragged him further into himself, before Reed had become an insufferable prick, and before Connor had opened his eyes to see who the true culprit had been.

“I don’t give two shits about what ya meant!”

Hank would be damned if he let Connor experience any sort of Reed’s bullying. The older police man had grown a tough skin when it came to the jabs and cruel comments the younger man would throw his way. He couldn’t stand anyone—human or android—who wasn’t able to empathize at least partially towards a situation or another person. It was where his deep-rooted anger and Reed’s childish outbursts diverged, each shaping them into the men they were today. And truthfully, if Hank had kept going down the path he’d been traveling, he was almost certain he would’ve eventually turned into a bitter creature like Reed. . . that is, if his depression hadn’t killed him first.

“All right, all right,” he began tiredly as he finally came into view, “break it up”.

Reed was standing extremely close to Connor, his pointer finger of his left hand pressed firmly against the android’s chest while his right hand hovered near his waist. The fingers of that hand flexing and forming into a fist as wild grey eyes snapped over to where Hank was standing. The RK unit he’d been partnered with was also in attendance, his back to both Reed and Connor as it seemed he was trying to placate the range owner—a short balding gentlemen whose face was tight with anger and frustration—his slightly broader body dwarfing the shorter man LED cycling through yellow. Connor himself didn’t appear to be outwardly bothered by Reed’s actions, his face carefully crafted to be neutral, but that only seemed to be irritating the younger man as Hank could see the bitterness shining in Reed’s eyes.

“Oh goodie,” he begins tauntingly, “here comes Anderson to collect his plastic pet,” he practically spits out the last two words, turning to face Connor and jabbing him in the chest to punctuate his distaste.

“You need to keep a tighter leash old man,” Reed continues on, eyes not tearing away from Connor and Hank notices the fingers of his right-hand dip underneath the worn brown jacket he wears, “never know what might happen. . .” his voice dips lower, menacing, and there’s a reason Hank made this far in his life as a member of the DPD.

In the same fluid motion that Reed pulls his gun out from his holster, Hank steps forward and shoves Connor back, taking up the space between him and Reed’s gun that’s now pointed at his head. At the same time, Hank pulls up the gun he’d been shooting with and aims for Reed’s chest, his eyes hard as ice as he watches grim fascination flicker across the young detective’s face. Watches the way his lips curl back into an impressed smirk and his eyebrows quirk up over eyes that shine darkly.

Reed lets out a bark of laughter, “Not bad, old man,” he drawls but doesn’t lower his gun. In front of him Hank can just make out the range owner returning to his desk, voice livid as he presumably is off calling the DPD. It’s almost enough to make Hank laugh, but really, he doesn’t _need_ to have another write up added into his file, it’s just that Reed makes it so easy to jump off that edge. RK900 has turned around now, his face composed but Hank has spent enough time looking into Connor’s face to recognize the way his mouth twitches slightly, eyes narrowing around the edges slightly in what can only be annoyance.

“Detective Reed,” the android begins as he takes a step closer until he’s standing by the younger man, “I must advise you that we leave immediately, Captain Fowler won’t be pleased by the actions that are transpiring here”.

Hank watches a scowl etch its way onto Reed's face, fingers flexing over the handle of his gun as his eyes dart off to the side but he doesn't turn around to address RK900, "I didn't ask you _your_ opinion shitbag," he growls, "just because I got saddled with you doesn't mean I give a shit about what comes out of that fucking fake face".

His voice sounds exactly like Connor’s except there’s something slightly. . .off about it. . . RK900 turns his gaze towards Hank, his head tilted slightly up and it makes it look like he’s staring Hank down as opposed to trying to defuse the situation. Hank’s grown so accustomed to looking at Connor and seeing brown eyes, but the ones that are looking back at him unwaveringly are grey, just like Reed’s. Only, the RK unit lacks any sort of fire that’s currently dancing in the young detective’s eyes.

Hank watches as that intense gaze drifts over from him to Connor, those grey eyes moving back and forth as his LED continues to cycle through yellow. It’s unnerving, being _this_ close to Connor’s look-a-like, feels like he _knows_ the guy but just not in that particular way. The way that he can say he knows Connor, now to a lesser extent but it’s at least _something_. Hank feels like he’s looking at some long-lost brother Connor never bothered telling him about and who just muscled his way into their lives. Hank’s not sure how to handle the amount of apprehension that settles in his stomach, he’s too preoccupied with trying to deal with Reed and his current hissy fit without dragging Fowler into this.

“Besides,” Reed begins mockingly, letting his smirk turn into a wide grin, teeth barred for all to see, “I wasn’t gonna shoot the tin can or anything,” he shucks his gun back into its holster on his hip and crosses his arms across his chest, menacing smile still plastered on his face.

“I was just reminding it of its place,” he lets out a bitter laugh, turning his attention over to the owner of the gun range and fishes around the back pocket of the jeans he’s wearing to pull out his wallet. He moves closer to the counter and tosses a handful of bills, being mindful to make sure Hank can’t see exactly how much he’s bribing the owner with, and quickly throws his wallet back into his pocket. The owner quickly takes the money, and Hank watches as he counts over the amount, folding it and tucking it into his shirt pocket and gives a curt nod, turning his attention down at his desk.

Hank lets the tension in his arm loosen and he brings his gun back down to his side, face hard and eyes narrowed at Reed who’s still smiling dangerously at him.

“Better take care of your _pet_ Hank,” he says as he turns to leave, not bothering to signal his departure to RK900 who quickly moves to follow the younger man out the door, “looks like it saw a fucking ghost”. Another bark of laughter and the two of them are gone, the door closing softly behind them and once it does, Hank turns around to face Connor.

The brown eyes he’s familiar with are staring straight through him, glossed over with what almost appears to be pain, but it’s floating underneath the surface and something else Hank can’t quite put a name to seems to take the forefront in Connor’s expression. His lips are pressed into a thin line and LED cycling through red.

“Connor?”, Hank reaches out a hand to try and rouse Connor, hoping the wait of his hand on his shoulder is enough to snap him back into reality. He’s forgotten about what exactly it is he’s holding in his right hand so when it goes to try and land on the android’s shoulder, the weapon bumps against Connor’s shoulder and he instantly recoils. His hand snaps up from his side, long fingers wrapping painfully around Hank’s right wrist that elicits a grunt of distress from the older man.

Hank’s eyes jerk back to Connor’s face, and he can just make out a tinge of red circling the outside of the android’s irises, the color muddying the coffee colored orbs and turning into an almost rusted brown instead. There’s a slight tremor running up Hank’s arm now, and he realizes that it’s Connor that’s starting to shake, his grip shifting from bruising into something laxer until he circles back into crushing the pad of his thumb into the inner part of Hank’s wrist.

“Connor! Hey, come on,” the older man says with a bit more force behind the words, the pain in his wrist lacing up his forearm now and he tries his best not to wince, “let go and let’s get outta here, Connor!” There still is no response from the android, not even the slightest indication that he’d heard him.

The pain’s getting worse and Hank furrows his brow, “Say something for Christ’s sake!” He yells it out loud, the words bouncing off the walls and causing the owner of the place to perk up. Hank can hear his nervous voice in the background, his own thoughts running loudly in his head and he feels himself turn around and angrily lashes out at the guy who ducks meekly away into another doorway, leaving the two of them alone.

Hank’s loud outburst seems to have undone whatever spell Connor was under as his grip around the older man’s wrist loosened and he was able to wriggle free. He’s about to continue chastising the android when Connor does something completely out of character. Connor brings both of his hands up and forcibly shoves Hank away from him, his head is ducked down and so Hank can’t see his face, but his LED is still bleeding red so he knowns the android is far from stable.

“What the hell?” Hank asks indignantly—he doesn’t appreciate Connor shoving away from him like that, especially when something is clearly bothering him—and he wrinkles his nose at the android.

Connor’s still visibly shaking, head still ducked down and Hank can see his shoulders moving up and down, like he’s breathing in rapidly despite not needing to. He brings his head up slightly, and that’s when Hank can see the shine to his eyes, the red in them having gone out and being replaced with tears that threaten to spill over. His mouth is parted open, lips forming words that he doesn’t give a voice to and Hank is struck dumb at the sight of his partner reaching the end his rope.

He’s unsure on how to deal with an android in distress, that was normally Connor’s territory of expertise. Hank watches as Connor takes in a gulp of unnecessary air, and then he whispers something that makes the older man’s entire world come to a screeching halt.

“I. . . I tried to _kill_ you. . .” Not a question, but a statement and he brings his head up all the way to stare at Hank with a haunting expression. A look of desperation and hopelessness, the same one he’d given the older police man the night he’d offed himself at the park.

Was it. . .? Could it really be. . .?

Hank is too stupefied to form any coherent sentence; his mouth opens regardless and the only thing that comes out is a gust of breath.

Connor repeats that sentence a little louder, and then after that he does so even louder. It’s all he seems to be able to say, like a broken record stuck on a certain line of a song. The tears are falling freely down his face now, his chest moving faster and faster as he sucks in more and more air his body doesn’t need. He’s in full blown panic attack mode and inside, Hank’s is yelling at himself to do _something_ because fuck, if it’s not painful to watch.

He finally feels himself move, tosses the gun back at the counter and wraps an arm around Connor’s shaking frame and leads him out the door and into the relative safety the backseat of his old car has to offer. It’s not much, but it’s what he has to work with, so he hopes that having the noise from the outside world will somewhat dim the cacophony of sensations Connor is no doubt being pelted with.

Hank had been down this road before, and it’s far from pleasant trying to pick yourself back up from the edge as you have people’s eyes boring holes into your back. He can only imagine what it must be like for Connor as an android.

Connor’s muttering something unintelligible under his breath now, body still shaking and his eyes twitching around the edges. Hank recognizes this as his way of trying to communicate with someone else—the few times he’d seen it had been in a dingy elevator when Connor had been making a report to Cyberlife and when he’d strangely allowed Hank to eat his unhealthy meal in peace at Chicken Feed—but it looks like it’s only causing him to spiral further into himself.

Tentatively, Hank brings up a hand and speaks loudly, too loud for the small space but he knows he needs to give all the warning he can to Connor in the state that he’s in.

“Connor, it’s all right,” nothing, still no recognition and Hank hesitantly places a hand on the android’s jittering shoulder that closest to him, “I’m here, right here”. His voice falters a bit around those particular words, deep down he realizes that he might not be the most qualified person to be bringing Connor back down. Hank’s had his fair share of attacks like this back in the early days of Cole’s death, and while he is _physically_ present with Connor in the backseat, his mind is wandering off and whispering hurtful things that he’d thought wouldn’t hurt as much. It’s just shy of triggering for Hank, seeing someone else fall apart just as badly as he has in the past, but he’s fighting against the want to slump against the backseat and give in to that feeling of sorrow and dread.

The android still doesn’t move, and so Hank moves in closer and pulls Connor into a loose hug, not wanting to encircle around him too much and cause him to panic any further.

“I’m here, right here”, he says again, a whisper this time and runs a hand through Connor’s hair. He grounds himself in the rough way it feels against his fingertips as he combs through it, not as soft as he was anticipating but nice all the same. He can feel Connor’s breath against the meat of his shoulder, it’s hot and he can hear the slight whir coming from the android’s mouth, like a computer trying to cool itself off to prevent overheating. He can feel the android’s hands come up to grasp at his jacket, pulling tightly and letting out an uneven breath, and the entire time Hank simply repeats the words he’s been telling him. The older man can feel Connor’s body jerk slightly upwards, like a human would do when they finally allow themselves to be washed over in their emotions, allow themselves to swept up and fully _feel_ rather than trying to keep it at bay.

“I’m sorry. . .”, shaky and watery sounding and so _vulnerable_. Hank has never once heard Connor speak this way, not even when telling him that there was nothing waiting for him if he were to die. There’s regret there too, possibly for causing a scene or for almost dragging Hank down to his final resting place, but he can’t find himself to give a damn because they’re both still _here_. And to Hank, that makes all the difference in the world.

“I know. . .”, he wants to say more but the words catch in his throat the moment he tries to speak beyond those two words. He wants to say that there’s no real reason for him to be, Hank had felt that it wasn’t Connor who’d led him back to the park, who’d pointed a gun at him and told him that he’d do anything to finish the task he’d been given. It honestly, wasn’t _his fault_ , Connor didn’t ask for anything, he hadn’t had a say in what he’d wanted to do, he’d only been given directions to follow.

There was no real choice there.

Another shuddering breath from Connor and Hank can feel the muscles of the android’s face contort into something as he says, “I was so, _scared._ . .”

The lynch pin to Deviancy seemed to have ties to an android experiencing an incredible amount of emotional stress far beyond what their systems were able to properly handle. It could be triggered when they felt themselves to be in grave danger or when a human they had a deep emotional connection to was threatened. Hank had never seen the emotion on Connor, had only seen it on the android’s they had been ordered to track down and bring back to the station to study like some twisted science experiment.

“You’re alright, Connor,” he says when he can find his voice and manages to swallow past the lump that’s still in his throat. Hank wants to ask more, wants to know what else Connor has remembered but doesn’t want to push too hard too fast. It’s a precarious balancing act he has to do between his curiosity and his concern over the shivering android in his arms. He simply holds Connor a little closer and maybe a little tighter, letting him cry into his shoulder until his sobs die down into quiet whimpers.

The android pulls away from him slightly, stains from his tears lining both of his cheeks but his eyes are red and puffy, snot isn’t pouring down from his nose like it would have had it been Hank in his situation. His eyes are bright and wet and that’s the only other outward indicator that signifies Connor’s current emotional state. There’s pain in those brown orbs, Hank realizes as the android’s eyes flicker back and forth and he wants the ability to wipe it away and see Connor happy.

Connor parts his lips, a huff of breath flying in and it looks like he wants to say something but his mouth quickly shuts when the ringer of Hank’s phone startles both of them. They jerk out of their close embrace, Connor digging around in the pockets of his pants for something while Hank rubs at his face in annoyance and pulls his phone out.

“Yeah?”, he answers without bothering to check who it is that’s calling.

“Hank,” his name is said firmly and with a hint of irritation around the edges. It’s Fowler.

“Where the hell are you?” The police Captain grumpily barks into the receiver on his end and Hank is going to answer him but is promptly cut off.

“Never mind just—” an exasperated sigh sounds over their shared connection and Hank can see the image of Fowler rubbing at the back of his neck, the way he does when he’s about to give out particularly bad news.

“A call came in just a minute ago, dead android and whatnot and Reed’s wandered off God knows where”. He sounds angrier now, and there’s some guilt there as Hank recalls the way the young detective left the gun range but there’s also some satisfaction there as well.

The older man’s eyes flick over to check on Connor and he finds the android leaning forward slightly, quarter in hand that he spinning on the tip of his index finger. Hank doesn’t need to snap his fingers in order to get the android’s attention because Connor is already nodding his head, coin dancing over the knuckles of his left hand as he finally speaks.

“I’m good”.

He doesn’t sound entirely too confident, judging by the way the coin falters slightly as Connor flicks it back to his right hand to spin over the tips of all his fingers but Hank doesn’t press him.

“Just tell us where and we’ll be there,” Hank says into his phone, keeping his gaze trained on the android sitting in front of him.

Fowler tells him the location of where the call originated from and Hank wonders how this day could possibly get any worse.

-.-

As luck would have it, the day is getting worse the longer Hank stares down at the body.

The pair find themselves back at the Italian restaurant, only this time it wasn’t for lunch and it wasn’t during a pleasant spring afternoon. It’d gotten colder outside and the clouds that had rolled in were dark grey and full of water. The rain was now steadily falling from the sky and running down the back of Hank’s stripped shirt.

Just another typical dreary Detroit afternoon Hank thinks glumly.

Laying just on the threshold of the front door to the restaurant was Luca, expression blank and staring skyward, mouth parted slightly as if he’d been about to say something before collapsing. Left hand above his head while his right was laid across a gaping hole underneath his ribcage, right where his Thirium Pump should be but appears to have vanished.

The road and sidewalk were already blocked off, other officers standing nearby to redirect any foot traffic should anyone decide to get too nosy. Despite that, Hank was already noticing people pulling up their phones, trying to record everything that was going on or talking hurriedly to someone else over the line. Some stood around, whispering to one another and huddling close while others took one look and hurried on their way, not bothering with the details. Hank could appreciate those, as he was sure he would’ve done the same had he been just another run of the mill civilian out running chores or grabbing something to eat.

Hank shifted from one foot to the other, letting out a huff of breath before turning back around and casting his gaze down on the ground. Connor was knelt down beside Luca’s lifeless body, eyes running up and down the body before he brought a hand out to run an imaginary trail from the hole where Luca’s hand was resting and up the left side of the dead android’s head.

The precinct had received a frantic call from Gabriele, the older brother of the now deceased Luca, his words quickly spilling from his mouth in a panicked frenzy that was uncharacteristic of the normally stoic android. Fowler had tipped both Hank and Connor about the call, sending a few more of his officers out to secure the area before mumbling about Reed and his absence, his android partner sitting stiffly at the young detective’s desk.

It seemed that Hank and Connor would still be the leading force in human-android relations, Reed and his android meant to provide backup should it be necessary. But it was hard to be backup when your other partner wouldn’t even pick up the phone, from either Fowler or RK900.

Typical.

“What’s the word?” He asked as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingers brushing against the lighter that was wrapped around the fabric lining, “what’re we lookin’ at?”

Connor stood slowly, eyes still downcast and muddied with concentration as he responded, “There appears to be no signs of blunt trauma, no indications of an altercation in any manner,” his voice wavered off towards the end, clearly lost in thought but Hank waited. If spending time with Connor had taught him anything, it was that the android was damn near perfect in getting the events of a crime to line up and paint a beautiful, if gruesome, picture that detailed exactly what happened. But he could see him pursing his lips together, his hands coming together to rub them back and forth as he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

It was interesting to watch, though Hank would never voice such a thing, to see the minute details Cyberlife had placed into making Connor appear more outwardly human.

He’d seemingly calmed down on his own, after being dragged out of the gun range and into Hank’s car. The older man had watched him through the rear-view mirror, he’d instructed Connor to stay put in the backseat, as the android made his quarter dance across the dips between each knuckle of his right hand. It was comforting to know that he was doing somewhat better, what with having something in front of him to piece together—the epitome of doing something he was intended to do.

“What is most concerning,” Connor began again, drawing Hank’s attention to the android’s face as he turned around, “is that there are no fingerprints”. His eyebrows were drawn down over his eyes, making him appear sterner despite the confusing covering the words as they fell from his lips.

Hank gave out a small questioning hum, nodding his head as he walked around to the other side of the body, “So then we’re looking at an android what, killing itself?” The older man quirked an eyebrow in Connor’s direction, the android’s gaze falling back down, eyes roaming over the body once more, “It would appear that way,” he began, “judging how the amount of thirium present is only from this model of android”.

He knelt back down, one arm coming to rest on his thigh and he pointed towards the hole where Luca’s thirium pump should have been, “Thirium becomes invisible to the human eye after prolonged exposure outside of the body, only someone like myself is able to see it after the appropriate amount of time has passed”. Hank had to resist the urge to snort impatiently, instead, he quickly turned his head off to the side, rolling his eyes. And as he did so, he caught Connor’s head snapping back up only for it to fall back down.

The older man ran his tongue on the front of his teeth, letting out a small huff of breath, a sinking feeling falling into his stomach. He’d already hear this spiel from Connor months ago, but the guilt at behaving so indifferently towards the information the android was sharing with him made Hank cough a few times behind his hand. Hank thinks to ask, and he really means to ask this time, just how much Connor has remembered when they return home for the day.

“So, it’s a lot then I presume?”, he asks instead, trying to save himself from looking like a complete apathetic asshole.

It’s Connor that makes a sound at that, a faint hum but Hank doesn’t have the time to ponder over it further as he stands back at his full height, both hands coming up to the knot of his tie to straighten it back out. He’s wearing a pale baby blue dress shirt that makes the brown of his hair and eyes pop, makes them stand out strikingly and Hank feels an odd pull as he shifts from one foot to the other. The shirt clings to the muscles of Connor’s biceps, outlining the muscle underneath, even if it happens to be artificial it still draws Hank’s eyes. The folds of the shirt smooth out as soon as Connor drops his hands back to his side, head tilted to one side and Hank watches as a droplet of water falls from that curl over the left side of his face.

The older police man shivers, and it’s not just from the drops of rain that continue to snake their way down his back. Christ, this is the fucking worst place to notice the build of Connor’s particular model. There’s a fucking dead body in front of them.

Connor’s lips are slightly parted, the rain from above tucking down onto the plump folds of flesh and Hank wants to say something—anything really that will alleviate the oddly placed warmth he’s feeling now—but neither one speaks as a tearful Mrs. Romano comes up to them, a stern face placed on her husband’s face as their remaining son follows behind them.

It’s not the distraction he wants, but he thanks whatever fucking God is out there for the chance to tear his eyes away from Connor and the questionable effect he’s having on his body.

-.-

Hank runs a hand through his hair, it’s getting a bit longer than what he normally allows and he contemplates getting it cut later on in the week. That can wait, right now he’s busy typing out Mrs. Romano’s statement, along with her husband’s and Gabriele’s as well, he wants to see the whole picture and figure out what the missing pieces are.

Luca had been doing fine up until Hank and Connor’s latest visit for lunch just earlier in the week. No outward indications of anything wrong, he’d just done some self-regulating checks on his systems and Gabriele had confirmed that nothing _seemed_ out of place.

What apparently had been out of character for the younger brother, was the incident where he’d been sent out to get Hank’s table ready for lunch and inexplicably, dropped the plates he’d been carrying. The older man remembered hearing the ceramic falling to the floor just as quickly as an image of Connor struck with horror popped up as well.

It wasn’t right, it was odd, coming from someone who could boast his skills in balancing a deck of cards into a fragile tower while his older brother simply didn’t have the patience to do so. His mother had told Hank that he’d taken their encounter with the human male to heart, and he’d spent that last few days of his life on high alert and on edge, like he was waiting to see the man come through those doors again.

He’d left earlier than the rest of his family to go and open the restaurant and when the rest of his family had arrived, they’d seen the grislily scene that Hank and Connor had come to inspect. Their youngest son dead, seemingly of his own doing, but the possibility of having someone else do it—be it human or android—was very much in the realm of plausibility. Either an android had committed a crime, or a human had done their research and had come prepared to kill.

Either way, the press was going to have a field day once the DPD got out a statement about the situation. Hank was positive that news anchors upon news anchors would get into highly heated debates over the, “android conundrum” once again and just create a larger headache for Hank and the DPD to take care of. Moreover, there would be even more anti-android groups popping up, and people in the streets preaching how humanity was going down the wrong path.

Or some type of bullshit like that, honestly it all ended up giving Hank a tremendous headache.

His eyes slowly move over to where Connor’s sitting at his desk, the synthetic skin pulled back to reveal the hard-white plastic of his left hand as it rests on the keyboard. Images from the security camera’s flash rapidly, too fast for Hank to get a proper look at and makes him dizzy. How Connor is able to make any sense out of the rapidly flickering images is beyond him.

Connor is combing the footage for any signs of suspicious behavior, they already have the guy with the lopsided yellow cross on his shirt written down— a one Wyatt Schmidt—but Mrs. Romano seemed adamant that they look to see if anything else was out of place. So far, the android has been relatively quiet, a bit of a twitch of eyes here and there but nothing that he deems worthy enough to voice to Hank.

The older police man finishes his brief summary of the information they’ve gathered so far and puts Schmidt’s name into the system, waiting as his computer takes its time before spitting out a lengthy file under their only suspect.

Wyatt Schmidt, 34 years old and convicted of aggravated assault, burglary, drug possession, and a list of other various crimes. One dates back to when Schmidt was just fifteen years of age, a case of disorderly conduct along with an MIP charge. Looks like he’s defiantly no stranger to having run ins with the law, though it certainly hadn’t stopped him from trying to push his luck with Hank the other day and it looked like just his luck to be caught in a sticky situation such as this.

It wasn’t much to go off of, but the history of crimes laid out neatly for Hank to comb through and put something together was better than showing up empty handed. It certainly helped Hank’s case that he’d witnessed Schmidt give the Romano family some grief over having androids working in the restaurant, but for Schmidt, not so much.

“It appears that Schmidt was the only patron of the restaurant that got into a verbal altercation with Luca Romano,” Connor finally spoke, bringing his hand away from the keyboard so he could cast his gaze over to Hank, “from our current standpoint, and armed with the statements of his family, it appears we have our culprit”.

“But you said it yourself,” Hank slowly starts, pushing himself back from his desk to cross his arms over his chest, “there weren’t any fingerprints at the scene, no signs of a weapon used to knock the kid out”. It didn’t sit well in the pit of Hank’s stomach, gut instinct telling him that there had to be something more to this. . .it was just, well, they weren’t currently in possession of all of the missing pieces.

“I did, yes,” Connor affirms, inclining his head towards Hank, “but there isn’t anything else on the footage that indicates android involvement”, he frowns and the part in between in eyebrows creases into a small V-shape, something that tells Hank that he’s just as concerned about not having the pieces fit together properly.

Hank’s eyes narrow in contemplation, but he shrugs his shoulders and moves so his arms are placed on his desk and he leans towards Connor, “If something fishy is going on, we’ll figure it out,” he brings his keyboard over to where he is and pulls open a folder.

“We’ve done it before and we’ll do it again”, the words fall from his lips without going through the filter in his head and he hesitates with looking over at Connor, but he does so anyway. The android is giving him an indecipherable stare, something between confusion and inquisitive and Hanks finds himself thinking back to a particularly rainy November day, much like how it currently is outside, to when Connor gave him a similar look while Hank had eaten one of Gary’s finest burgers. He sees the android’s LED cycle yellow for a split second before it blinks back into blue, the corners of his lips quirk up slightly before he nods his head and gets back to work.

There’s an odd warmth rolling around in Hank’s stomach for the rest of the day, and he tries his best to ignore the way meeting Connor’s eyes only seems to make it worse.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you all for giving this work a kudos or dropping off a comment! This one's on the shorter side, still dealing with stuff, but writing has always been therapeutic for me so I couldn't stay away haha.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

The rest of the day goes relatively smoothly even when Reed happens to show back up in the bullpen. The younger detective had been pulled into Fowler’s office and had had his ear thoroughly chewed out, but when he’d entered back into the bullpen, it was like he’d seen a ghost. His face had been paler than usual, making the scar over his nose more prominent, and he hadn’t shrugged off the hand RK900 had placed on his shoulder in concern. Hank still wasn’t sure whether that was an improvement on Reed’s part, or he’d just been threatened enough by Fowler that he’d been too shocked to care. The older police man was just relieved that he didn’t have to hear the younger man throw another fit, he probably would’ve _actually_ punched the man in the face and get his ass kicked out of the office for a week.

Honestly, it would have been totally worth it, especially if Reed had decided to come after Connor once again. It was bad enough that the young detective had triggered the android back at the gun range, with only himself and the owner as onlookers to his breakdown. He looked up from his plate of cold spaghetti—Connor had prepared it for him when they’d gotten home, despite Hank’s protests that he didn’t _need_ to make Hank anything and that the older man was perfectly capable of simply ordering takeout— and into his living room.

  
The light from the lamps cast the room in a soft glow, soft voices coming from the television as a basketball game was playing. The shifting light from the game was casting odd shadows over Connor’s face, the android was resting with his back slumped against the couch. He’d kicked off his shoes as soon as they’d entered the house, and had undone his tie but hadn’t taken it off completely, it simply lay against his steadily rising chest and it didn’t look like the android was going to be rising from his seat any time soon. His head was pressed against the couch, slightly tilted towards Hank to where the man could see the almost listless way his eyes were staring at the television. Open, but not seeing.

Besides the small smile he’d offered to Hank earlier in the day, he’d been quiet. Only offering a few words when Hank ran out of coffee and when they’d left the office for the day. Their trip home had been awkward, at least for Hank it had been, he’d grown accustomed to the android trying to make conversation with him. Like back when they’d first met and Connor had tried to appease the older man by talking about a Gear’s game or how he liked heavy metal—which Hank _sincerely_ doubted he did but even still, the sentiment in which Connor had tried to connect with him hadn’t been appreciated much at the time, but now Hank was looking back it rather fondly. But tonight, Connor had been quiet, seemingly buried within his own mind and Hank had been trying to work up the courage to ask him what was bothering him.

But he’d never really been good at dealing with his _own_ emotions, he was certainly out of his depth when it came to trying to help others understand _their_ feelings. He stared down at his plate of cold food, pushing it around with his fork until he got up with a huff, garnering Sumo’s attention from the Couch where he laid across Connor’s lap. Hank laughed when his canine companion padded into the kitchen, panting loudly and tail wagging furiously. He eyed him from where he was standing near the sink, looking down into the big dog’s slobbery face before taking a forkful of the spaghetti and quickly placing it over Sumo’s dry kibble. It wasn’t every night that he spoiled him like this, but if got him at least _near_ his own food, then Hank considered it a win.

There was a smile on his face when he moved to turn back to the sink, throwing the rest of what he hadn’t eaten into a glass container and rinsing it off well before turning around to dry his hands. Connor had turned his head to stare at him and Hank could see the blinking color of his LED that peaked out from the side of his face. His eyebrows were set low over his eyes that seemed to have retained that faraway look Hank had seen on his face throughout the day. It was like the android was studying him and it was enough to make a shiver run down Hank’s spine. Connor’s model had been specifically designed to investigate crime scenes in order to aid the DPD in all of their cases, and _that_ look was something the older man had seen multiple times while he’d been running around with the android.

Hank still wasn’t sure how he felt whenever Connor would direct that heavy, investigative stare his way. It made anxiety gnaw at his stomach, making him lightheaded and unsteady on his feet, his chest tightening but not entirely unpleasant.

“Lieutenant, your heartrate is steadily rising”. Calm, cool, collected, and everything that Hank was most definitely _not_ feeling. He brought a large hand to his face and turned back towards the sink to place the towel he’d used to dry is hands on a small hook. There was no hiding the physiological changes that happened to occur whenever he stared at the android, it was built into them, to have the ability to check on them even when expressed permission wasn’t given. Hiding it from humans was far easier, you could train yourself to remain calm in moments of distress like when presenting in front of a room of people, their eyes trained on you. But for androids, you were exposed, naked in front of their fabricated eyes no matter how many layers of clothing you plastered over your body. It was a sort of vulnerability Hank hadn’t been privy to in years, not since he’d started drinking himself into oblivion and had thrown everything he’d once cared for away.

He didn’t like it, but for some godforsaken reason, he found himself trying to rationalize it away whenever it came to Connor.

“For a second there,” he began as he turned around once he’d regained some composure over himself, “I thought you’d forgotten how to speak”. He gave out a dry chuckle folding his arms across his chest as if that were enough to keep Connor’s gaze at bay. The android’s stare softened for a brief moment before the intensity settled over his face once again.

“I assure you, my verbal processors are running efficiently,” he primly spoke though his tone wasn’t reflected in those molten brown eyes. There was something there, something skimming underneath the surface and Hank gave out a small grunt as he pushed himself from the skin. His first instinct was to grab a drink so he could numb himself from having to _feel_ anything, from having to identify whatever it was that was coursing through his veins and from the look Connor was fixing on him.

“That so huh,” he drawled out as he instead moved towards his fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. He cracked the plastic top off and took a deep drink, his other hand fishing around his back pocket until he felt the lighter there. Maybe smoking would calm his nerves.

“I apologize if I’m causing any discomfort,” Connor spoke again, his voice a soft whisper that had Hank cock an eyebrow up. The older man took another sip from his water bottle, tilting his head around to look at Connor. The android had turned his face away from him, looking back at the television in front of him but Hank knew he wasn’t watching it at all.

“Earlier this afternoon. . .that experience must have been, trying,” there was the sound of fabric rustling against the couch and Hank watched the way Connor’s left leg twitched up slightly. A movement that was so human in its nature, a tell that told Hank what Connor wasn’t able to verbally express. The older police man let out a low grumble, placing his water bottle onto the counter and reaching up into his cabinets for his glass tumbler and bottle of Black Lamb.

Hank had his vices, and in the face of unknown territory and uncertainty, the one thing he wanted was the comfort the weight of the glass of alcohol could provide him. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, even before he brought the amber liquid to his lips. He’d already considered himself too far gone to be saved from the life of destructive habits he’d crafted for himself, but watching Connor struggle was something he seemingly couldn’t allow.

_Fuck._

He drank like a man dying of thirst before pouring more, the alcohol contributing to the odd sensation he’d felt curling around inside of him. Hank felt like he was screwed, like he was trapped with nowhere else to go. But even still, he turned around and found that his body moved him into the living room, found himself sitting down onto the couch next to Connor. The older man found his hand coming up without his consent and placing it onto hands that would never age, never wither, and never break quite like his. It was painful, watching the way Connor lethargically turned to face him, his eyes a reflection of emotion Hank had felt many times but had never had the courage to look into a mirror to see.

“I’ve never. . . _experienced_. . .fear before”, Hank noted the way Connor decisively refused to utter the word “feel”. It implied too much, gave away too much, and meant that the android was something entirely different than what he’d been designed to accomplish.

“I never knew I could. . . _fear_ death. . .I’m a machine, aren’t I?” Connor continued to talk and Hank let him, simply offering his presence as a way of wordlessly encouraging the android to continue talking. In the early days of their partnership, all that Connor had been was a machine to Hank. Nothing more than bolts and screws given a face that reflected his own and mirrored his emotions, nothing real or _alive_. Everything the android had said and done had been programmed into him, nothing he said had been of his own volition. . .

Until he hadn’t ratted Hank out on his illegal gambling, or had decided to save _him_ instead of continuing to chase that Deviant on the roof, or how he’d pulled Hank together and tore him away from taking that final step off the edge to bask in bittersweet nothingness. Time and time again Connor had taken steps to becoming more human than anything Hank had ever seen in his own species. And now, stripped of most of his memories, he was watching as Connor struggled to walk down that same road. The same path he’d unconsciously chosen and had unknowingly saved Hank.

“No,” he heard himself say in a gravelly voice, body going against his command to remain silent, “you’ve always been _more_ than that”.

He watched as Connor frowned, his lips tugging down and frown lines forming in between his eyes, “How can you be so certain? I. . .I tried to. . .I had it in my. . .” The older man felt the way the android shuddered, the sensation traveling up his hand and hitting him in the chest. He tried to burry down the events that had transpired that snowy night, tried to keep the images of Connor pressing the gun snuggly underneath his chin and his eyes flying open in shock as he’d tumbled from life the way the older man thought _he_ was supposed to. He’d had practice in stuffing down the things he didn’t want to acknowledge or remember, it was unhealthy but he had refused to go back to the therapist and pay ludicrous amounts of money to have someone tell him that what he was doing, was _wrong_. Hank had been wrong so many times up to that point in his life, what did it matter if like continued to prove to him how wrong he was about everything.

“What’s _wrong_ with me?” Again, that same distressing question Connor had asked him a couple nights ago, when he’d found the android flailing against the terror of his nightmare that had seem to strike a nerve somewhere deep in his programming.

“Nothing,” Hank said in that same raspy tone, grip tightening over Connor’s hands for a fleeting moment and he blinked a few times at how strongly he felt that sentiment sink into his bones.

“There’s not a goddamned thing wrong with you. . .”

_It’s just me. . ._

The thought crossed his mind, an uninvited guest to their private conversation in his living room and Hank clumsily jerked away from Connor. He gripped his glass a little tighter, and quickly turned his face away from the android and his searching gaze so he could take a deep sip of his drink. The burn he felt slide down his throat was a welcome relief from the bitterness he’d felt coming up his throat.

Connor gives his closest approximation to a frustrated sigh, the sound escaping his mouth at the same time he turns his head away from Hank.

“You don’t _know_ that, I don’t _know_ that,” he hotly said, turning his head to look up at the ceiling, his LED cycling from blue into yellow. His lips were pursed like a petulant child and where normally Hank would have snapped at him for his pissy behavior, he understood where it was coming from. It was the way he’d behaved after it had all been said and done and the others had walked away to leave him to his grief. Hank had lashed out at the only other person who could understand what he was going through, and in his misplaced anger, he’d driven everyone away. He knew what it felt like to have those lonely, sleepless nights, where no one could say or do anything to provide you the comfort you were blindly chasing after but never could find.

He’d gotten what he’d deserved, but damn it, if he didn’t want to see Connor dragged down that same path.

“There was a wall,” Connor began again after a moment of silence between them, “it was like I’d been put in front of it before, and I almost. . . _expected_ something to happen but. . .” he let out a shuddering breath and, in a moment, so entirely human, Connor lifted up his hands to his face and gripped at his perfectly kept hair. His fingers dug into the warm brown strands of hair, moving back and forth as he tugged on it in an exasperated fashion. He sucked in a breath of air, the sound shaky and stuttered like his systems were reminding him that he didn’t actually need breathe.

“Nothing happened. . .” The words tumbled from Connor’s lips in a painful hiss, his chest shaking up and down as he tightened the hold on his hair. He let out a garbled grunt, like he was in pain, and suddenly he was leaning forward. His back was arched up, shoulders shaking with the undoubted effort Connor was trying to gather to keep himself from falling.

“Connor. . .”, Hank began tentatively, slowly setting his glass down on the coffee table and reaching out for the android, his hand outstretched. But as soon as he’d moved, Connor had shot up from his place on the couch. His hands slapping loudly against his thighs as he sprung up, chin tucked against his chest and entire body shaking. Then, after another shaky breath, he turned his head to face Hank.

His eyes shone brightly, his plump bottom lip was tucked into his quivering mouth, his nostrils flaring. Those same eyes were narrowed in his direction, confusion rampant in their depths but also something more, something akin to hurt that was bleeding its way onto Connor’s face. His tie finally fell from his shoulders, landing on the floor and Hank found himself following the motion of the inanimate object, anything so he wouldn’t have to look at Connor.

“What if I’m not, _him_ ”.

The very thought had come across in Hank’s mind many late nights where he couldn’t sleep but didn’t want to go out into his living room for fear of the hope that gripped him so tightly. The hope that maybe this was just a bad dream and that he’d wake up any moment and there Connor would be, just the same, but different. Since the accident, Hank had been told that Connor’s memories would be lost to him, that he possibly would never be able to get _everything_ back. But just in the past few days alone, it’d seemed like something inside of the android’s programming was trying to reach out from behind the curtain. Reach out and try to make sense of the world around him that was vastly different than what he’d been initially anticipating.

But Hank had never considered the thought that maybe. . .maybe the android in front of him _would_ _never_ be like the Connor who’d been sent by Cyberlife to help the DPD. Maybe, _this_ android standing in front of him, shaking like a leaf on a tree in the autumn breeze, wanted to be something different.

When he didn’t say anything immediately, Connor let out an angry hiss of breath and his eyes fell down to the ground in dismay.

“But then who am I?” He brought his hands up and they shook violently and he clenched them into fists before letting out another heavy breath, “What if I’m just. . . _nothing_ without these memories? What if I’m just walking around in his body, stealing this from him”. Connor brought his arms up to wrap them around himself, and it looked like he was caving in on himself and Hank’s body sprang up automatically. He caught the android’s body before he could crash to his knees and he held him upright by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the plastic metal that lay beneath the synthetic skin.

Connor’s head snapped up on impact, tears already falling down his face and when Hank let himself stare into the coffee colored eyes, he saw how the android’s pupils widened, heard the way a soft gasp escaped parted lips and felt the shiver run through Connor when Hank squeezed. Anxiety clawed at Hank’s stomach and he swallowed nervously a few times before he steeled himself.

“You can be whoever the fuck you want to be,” he began firmly finding himself staring into Connor’s eyes and feeling his heart begin to hammer against his ribcage, “and I’ll still fucking care about you”.

The eyebrows on Connor’s eyes hitched up on his face right as Hank could feel the tips of his fingers grow cold, his hands suddenly feeling like they were covered in water. He’s felt this way before, back when he’d asked out his then girlfriend Jessica to the junior prom or when he’d given a quick thank you speech when he’d been appointed Lieutenant. It was that nervous and excited energy rolled into one that heightened his awareness of his surroundings and made his mind tune in to others around him. It was what made him a great police officer before climbing the ranks to the position he found himself in now.

He could hear the blood rushing to his ears, could feel his face heat up because he’d never been so emotionally open to _anyone_ in years. Hank wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d still possessed the skill necessary to connect to someone else on an emotional level. But here he was, spilling his guts out to android with amnesia, someone who looked like his partner but was someone else entirely.

“There’s. . .something about _this_. . .” Connor began in a hushed voice, eye lids lowering over eyes that became dark as they came to stare down at Hank’s face, starting from his eyes and stopping down at his beard. A pale hand reached out, trembling slightly but becoming firm when long fingers pressed against Hank’s bearded cheek. Those same fingers stroked his beard almost reverently, stroking him as if the older man was someone of high importance and not one who was easily accessible to touch in such an intimate way.

“It makes me feel like I’ve known you for _years_ instead of months,” Connor took a step forward, pressing his body further into Hank’s personal space and the older man could feel the heat surrounding his body intensify. He felt himself lean into the hand at his face, just the slightest of movements.

“It makes me _feel_. . .” the android repeated, blinking slowly, “it’s what makes this so. . .hard. . .” That dark edge to his eyes melted away, his eyebrows drawing down over his face and Hank could see the indecisiveness dancing across his face. Connor didn’t leave any room for the older man to say anything because as soon as he opened his mouth, the android pushed himself away. There was a distinct cold feeling that seeped into Hank’s body at that, at having the weight of Connor removed from his person but he pushed the thought aside at the sad smile the android gave him as he sat back onto the couch.

“Forgive me,” he quickly began, seemingly composing himself with the fluid motion of taming his hair that had become unruly due to his ministrations, “for dragging you into this, mess”.

He watched as a self-deprecating grin splintered Connor’s features, it didn’t look right on him, nor was it in character for the android to bring his arms back around himself and fold his body in on itself. It was something Hank used to do many times before the sheer pain of holding himself like that became too much and he had instead, turned to alcohol to help numb the pain. That aching loneliness permeated through everything else the older man was feeling, and he found his mouth moving without his consent, his body once again betraying him and leading him out into unfamiliar territory.

“Sleep with me”.

He hadn’t _meant_ for it to come out so bluntly, or with the connotation something like that normally meant when directed towards another person. Hank meant it in a way that meant he didn’t want Connor to be alone, that he was offering himself up to the android so he could have someone when Hank hadn’t had the luxury of unloading his troubles onto someone who could understand what it meant to be beaten and broken and spit out by life. Hank worried the inside of his lip, not trusting himself to say anything more despite his nervousness over the entire situation making him want to turn tail and run to his bedroom.

The look of surprise on Connor’s face faded away into one of respite, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly but not quite forming into a smile. Hank preferred that over the other flashes of emotion he’d seen the android go through.

“I wouldn’t wish to trouble you, Lieutenant,” he said as he straightened himself out on the couch, presumably to return to the slack posture he’d been sitting in from the moment they’d come home.

“Bah,” was all Hank could muster up, still not trusting his mouth to say the proper words he wanted to say. He waved a dismissive hand in Connor’s direction, running the same hand over the back of his neck, the flesh there hot and clammy.

“‘S better than leavin’ ya out here, trust me, kinda sucks. . .” Hank cast his eyes down to stare at his socked feet, his big toe starting to poke through the strands of fabric. Connor gave a soft little hum at that, regarding him carefully before slowly nodding his head. Wordlessly, he grabbed the television remote and shut it off and got up in one fluid motion.

“I appreciate your generosity, thank you”. And there it is, a small smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes but Hank considers a win either way, it’s been a hell of a day.

He nods in response, moving towards the hallway that branches off into the bathroom and his bedroom, “Feel free to change in the bedroom while I get ready,” he says as he clears his throat, the suffocating heat finally starting to leave his body, but now he just felt cold and awkward in his skin. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply pushes the door open to his bathroom, flicks on the light, and closes the door.

There’s nothing much to his nightly routine, just a couple splashes of water on his tired face—good Lord does he have dark circles under his eyes, Christ—and a couple minutes spent brushing his teeth before he takes a piss and inspects himself in the mirror once more. His eyes find their way down to the four sticky notes he’s placed around and, on the mirror, one of them jumping out on him as he has scribbled over one particular word multiple times before he had stuck it onto the mirror.

_I’m not grumpy, I just don’t like YOU._

Hank still had his issues with himself, and seeing how he’d just blurted out an invitation for Connor to join him in his bedroom was _not_ helping matters. Going back to it, as he often found himself doing, he had not wanted to leave Connor alone with his musing. Hank knew far too well what those distracting thoughts could do to a person and as much as he hated to admit it, he was fond of Connor.

_Sleep with me._

“Maybe a little _too_ fond. . .?” He questioned himself out loud, watching the way his reflection narrowed his eyes and frowned, his forehead wrinkling and crow’s feet prominent near the edges of his eyes. Who could possibly find someone as old and beaten up as he was attractive enough to _actually_ sleep with? There mere thought had him shuddering and he turned on his facet to splash more water onto his face, running a hand through his silver hair when he was done. Sure, once upon a time his gray hair and beard had been a striking blonde, his body well-toned and muscular. But that had been years ago, now he was just some fat old fart with mental health issues he _refused_ to acknowledge were a serious problem.

Jesus Christ on a bike, what the fuck was wrong with him?

He groans and heads for the door, flicking off the switch and taking in a few steadying breaths before opening the door and stepping back out into the hallway. The rest of the living room and kitchen lights are off, save for one light over the door, but other than that, the house is bathed in darkness. There’s a light coming from his bedroom door, the frame slightly cracked open and allowing a sliver of light out into the dark hallway.

Just behind that door was Connor, inexplicably still here and willing to entertain the crazy machinations of an old man who, when it came right down to it, was lonely but would never admit to such a thing aloud. It’d been Hank who had somehow blundered his way into convincing Connor to walk away from the precipice and back onto the safety of solid ground, or at least, as solid as it could get with Hank hanging around him.

He hesitated for a moment longer, feeling his heart beat rapidly against his chest before he pressed against the door. Connor was simply sitting on the edge of the bed, his work clothes neatly folded onto Hank’s dresser. He was dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt from Hank’s early days at the DPD academy, the neck stretched out and showing off the android’s prominent collar bone and pale skin, a faint smattering of freckles peeking through. Jesus, whoever thought freckles would get his heart racing like it currently was, those over at Cyberlife certainly knew what they were doing.

As Hank had closed the door, the android had risen to his feet, the sweatpants he often wore clung to his slender hips, though even they pooled at the ground, almost swallowing his feet entirely.

“Lieutenant, your heart—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he began thickly, trying to find his train of thought amongst the vision of absolute youth and beauty that was standing before him.

_Fuck._

Hank steadfastly makes his way over to the bed to pull back the sheets—he’d already changed into something to wear as soon as they’d come home—and urged Connor to follow him. The older man pointedly ignored the way his hands shook as he pulled back the sheets for the android to slowly lower himself in, and tried to rid himself of his suddenly dry mouth. He felt the bed give under the weight of Connor’s body as the android finally let himself fall back against the soft sheets, and Hank chanced a glance to his right, just to make sure Connor was settling in without any discomfort.

This was the closest the two of them had ever been, and Hank can see the flicker of uncertainty cross Connor’s seemingly passive features. It’s in the way his right eye twitches slightly, how his LED flickers for a few brief moments, yellow cutting across that safe blue. And how his movements are stiffer, as if he’s afraid of pushing himself too far too fast or waiting to hear Hank change his mind and chase him off. Fat chance of that ever happening, Hank can’t keep his eyes off from staring at the way the mattress conforms to Connor’s body, how the sheets lay beautifully against that slender waist. How those brown eyes find his and hold them there with an indescribable emotion in them, those long lashes kissing high cheekbones every time the android blinks.

Suddenly, something inside of Hank breaks, like a rock being thrown at a mirror, the fractures snaking their way through the glass. Not entirely shattering it, but just one rock toss away from falling to pieces. He’s not sure if he wants to go back down this road again, he’s been hurt and hurt others so many times over that he’s not entirely convinced his heart isn’t entirely blackened by everything he’s done. Hank doesn’t want to put a name to the sensation he’s feeling, simply looking back at Connor who gives him the shyest of smiles and presses himself into the sheets with a breathy sigh.

“Thank you, for offering this,” the android says as he closes his eyes and then opens them again. They shine brightly with some unknown emotion that Hank feels if he gets too close to naming, he might jump out of bed and decide to sleep on the couch.

“Yeah, of course,” he says quietly and then adds, “I wasn’t just going to leave you out there on your own”.

Connor hums at that, burrowing impossibly deeper into the sheets, eyes flicking away and looking around the room before he speaks again. “I’m glad to have the company should anything happen,” his eyes meet Hank’s as he whispers, “it means a great deal to me, to be here with you”.

“If you wanted to,” Hank begins nervously, “maybe this weekend we can go down and see Markus and Simon, you know, the ones who helped you before. Maybe they can help with, the memories”. If Connor was experiencing intense episodes now and freezing up whenever he happened to see a gun or whenever Hank happened to be at the receiving end of said weapon, then he wasn’t entirely sure if he _wanted_ Connor to remember. What if took place during an important case, or chasing down a perp? Hank couldn’t live with himself if the android was ripped from his life once again. And Connor himself had expressed immense concern over not being able to remember and having to endure the traumatic events of his untimely death.

Hank _wanted_ Connor to come back to him, but with this warmth curling around in his stomach, with his heart fluttering every time Connor smiled at him. . .the older man wasn’t too sure if the android he’d known before would feel the same. Maybe he was going to have to let go of something in order to grow and heal from what had taken place. It hurt, but he waited with baited breath as Connor’s brow furrowed in consideration over Hank’s offer.

“I think we can talk it over with them, see what we can expect and go from there”. Connor gave a small smile and halfhearted shrug of his shoulders. Not quite a yes, but not quite a no either, but it still made a lump form in Hank’s throat nonetheless. But what also tripped him up was Connor using “we” instead of just “I”. Did he want Hank’s input into this decision as well? The android was his own person, and the older man had already offered his support no matter what choices Connor was planning on making. It was a scary thought to have after so many years of not being able to care about yourself, let alone to care enough about another person’s life.

“Sure,” he starts shakily, “yeah, we can do that”, his conviction is stronger than the tone of voice he uses but it seems to satisfy Connor as the smile doesn’t fall from his face.

_I’m fucked._

He thinks as he turns off the lamp on his side of the bed and asks for Connor to do the same. Now they’re both bathed in darkness, and the android whispers a few words before his unnecessary breathing slows and he falls into stasis on his side facing the older man.

_I’m totally, royally, and utterly, fucked._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this one's a long one but. . .it would've broken off in a weird spot if I had and the next part is already long enough. . .
> 
> Hopefully you all enjoy this extra long piece ^ ^
> 
>  
> 
> (I'll also endeavor to make Gavin not a huge prick because I actually really like him and wish there had been more character development with him)

The next day Connor finds himself enveloped in a warmth so organic, his sensory inputs momentarily confuse themselves and send a sharp shock through his systems. It dances across the wiring and circuitry inside of him and he jerks awake, eye lids fluttering open as his hand reflexively closes around that warmth he’s found himself wrapped up in.

Sunlight filters its way into the room through the blinds that cover a window to his right, he’s transfixed by the way the light casts the pattern of the blinds onto the corner where the door is shut. Stray particles of dust float freely in the air and he watches as they pass into the streams of sunlight before his audio processor click back on and he’s greeted to an entirely foreign sound.

It thuds against his ear, soft and steady, fluttering for a moment as the body beneath him shifts before settling back down into its peaceful rhythm. Connor splays out the hand he’s curled into a fist, applying the faintest of pressure to see if he can feel the heart underneath muscle and bone beat. It pushes against his hand, strong and healthy despite everything that’s been done, a sign that the one beneath him is alive and well.

Hank’s body shifted around him again—the man’s arm seemed to have found Connor’s body sometime during the night and had pulled the android closer—the arm around his shoulder squeezing him gently. The older man let out a sigh, muttering quietly under his breath before his body went limp again and his breathing evened back out. A quick peek at his internal clock told Connor that he’d need to get Hank up in roughly thirty minutes, but part of him entertained the thought of holding off for just a few more minutes so he could bask in the strange sensation. It started at the tips of his toes, which brushed up against Hank’s lower leg, and traveled up his spine and dipped down into the delicate wiring that kept his mechanical heart beating.

It was a sort of peace and happiness he hadn’t been privy to in the past five months. It’d felt like he had had to walk around delicately when he’d first gone home with Hank, afraid to say anything out of character or have the older man lash out at him or even worse, choose not to speak to him again. Now though, everything was steadily falling into place. He didn’t feel as nervous around the other man, didn’t feel like he was one step away from being kicked to the curb. He’d grown steadily bolder, and last night’s events came rushing back to him and almost on instinct, Connor’s body curled in closer to Hank’s. Searching for the warmth and security he didn’t realize he’d been missing until now.

Something inside of him shifts, almost feels like it locks into place. It still feels like he’s blindly stumbling along but, it doesn’t feel like he’s as restricted anymore, like there isn’t a heavy weight holding him down like it had before.

Hank shifts in bed once again and Connor tilts his head up to see the older man’s eyelids flutter open, the blue of his eyes striking in the early morning sunlight in the bedroom. He blinks lazily a few times and then yawns before he slowly turns his attention the weight that is Connor glued against his side. The android watches the way those eyes open wider, the pupils dilating ever so slightly and the sharp intake of breath that causes Hank to sputter and clear his throat.

The moment stretches between them like the blush that creeps up Hank’s neck, covering his skin in a faint pink hue that Connor’s receptors are easily able to identify. They simply stare at one another, neither wanting to break the spell of quiet that’s stolen both of their voices away, although, Connor is certain that he should say something. Like, tell Hank that they should be getting up and start getting ready for work, that they’ll be late and won’t have time to take Sumo out if they continue to simply stare wordlessly at each other.

But here’s the thing, Connor doesn’t _want_ to move, doesn’t _want_ to leave the confines of the four walls surrounding him and cradling him in a sense of happiness so strong he’s concerned his systems might become overloaded due to the sensation coursing so strongly within him. He watches, somewhat removed, as his hand covering Hank’s heart moves up to scrape a thumb along the edge of his beard, feeling the strong bone of the man’s jaw underneath the hair there. He’s not sure what to make of it when he feels Hank press against his thumb, not moving away like Connor had half expected him to do.

Why did he _want_ this? Wasn’t he supposed to want for nothing? Wasn’t he supposed to be a machine? When had that changed? And why did it feel like this was something he’d done before, felt before?

A soft sigh and the turn of a head, a large hand coming up to grab lightly at his wrist and gently tug it back down to rest over his chest. Connor can feel Hank’s heart beat rapidly against his palm, but he makes no move to comment on it, he just lets himself drown in the sound and the way it makes his own heart beat in synchronization.

“We should get moving,” Hank’s voice is rough with sleep, a few octaves lower than it normally would be had he’d been talking already and Connor stores away the sound and the way it makes him feel. He feels the muscles of Hank’s body move beneath the skin, the grip around his wrist tightening slightly as the older man moves his body around so that his feet are at the edge of the bed. Connor moves with him, leaving the warmth of the bed behind and watches as Hank lets go of him in order to stand and stretch. He mutters that he’s going to take a shower and Connor hums in acknowledgement, watching at the man makes his way out of the room.

The sheets surround the back of Connor’s waist, tempting him to lay back down and throw the covers over his body and bury himself in that warmth. Instead, he curls his fingers into the sheets, feels them rapidly cool, before he stands and heads to Hank’s closet. He hadn’t had any proper clothes when he’d been reactivated, Markus had offered a few changes of clothes but they didn’t fit quite right against Connor’s body. Hank had taken him out shopping and had offered up a portion of his closet for the new garb the android had obtained. It was nice, Connor thought as he brushes a hand across Hank’s clothes, tips of his fingers stopping when he got to his own clothing, for the older man to offer him so much even though he’d been new to everything.

Part of him knew that clothes shouldn’t matter as much as it did, as long as they didn’t get in the way he shouldn’t be bothered by what it looked like. But he’d found himself carefully selecting particular colors and styles of shirts, some to wear casually as well as some to wear for more formal occasions—the DPD had an annual summer gala which would be coming up in the next few months, so he’d chosen something to wear for such an occasion—along with jackets of varying thickness to accommodate for the changing of the seasons.

He pulls out a crisp white button down and moves over to one of the drawers built into Hank’s closet system and grabs the first pair of dark blue jeans he finds. Connor sets his clothes down onto the bed and proceeds to strip himself down, folding his sleep clothes neatly on the unmade bed before slipping into his jeans and pulling on his white shirt. The sound of the water turning off and the curtain being pulled back means Hank is done showering and he should probably start making some coffee and take Sumo out.

Connor’s hands make quick work of the buttons on his shirt and he’s lost in his own thoughts, rolling up the sleeves up on both arms and reaching out for his chosen waistcoat when he hears a knock on the door.

“Ya decent in there?”, a gruff laugh and the sound of shuffling feet as Connor hears Sumo’s claws against the wood flooring. He hears Hank greet the large dog before he takes hold of his waistocat and gives a response back to the other man.

“Yes, come in Lieutenant,” he shimmies his waistcoat on moving to roll up the long black sleeves when he hears an odd noise come from Hank. The android turns his head to face the man, he’s still dressed in sleepwear, his hair is wet and a few strands are dripping down onto the gray shirt he’s wearing. There’s a towel tossed so casually around his shoulders, one side of it pressed into his gray hair. Those blue eyes become dark as they flicker sporadically across Connor’s person. They linger on his exposed forearms and shoulders, blinking slowly as if he’s staring at something he’s seen before. But it can’t be, Connor chose this particular piece while Hank had stepped out of the shop the android had wandered into, stating that he’d wait for him outside as he was already burnt out on shopping.

It hung snuggly around Connor’s frame but was loose enough around his shoulders that it still allowed him to move freely. The arms were black and long—there’d been only one size but something about had drawn Connor in instantly and he’d purchased it despite the fit. The trim around the neckline and pockets was black as well, contrasting nicely against the gray body of the rest of the waistcoat. For the android, it felt like he’d been made to wear something like this and from the way Hank was staring at him, Connor felt this was a correct assumption to be making.

“Looks good on you,” it’s quiet yet too loud and the conflicting sensations are jarring enough to make Connor reach a hand over to his left sleeve and tug at it. He can feel the heat rising in his body and he flicks his gaze away from the one Hank has pinned on him.

“Thank you,” he responds, still not looking directly at Hank. Instead, he turns back to the closet and pulls out a black belt and threads it through the loop holes on his jeans as Hank makes his way over to pick something out to wear.

“I’ll get some coffee going and let Sumo out,” he informs Hank who only nods his head in response and Connor forces himself to meet the other man’s gaze. There’s something sad in those depths now, something cold that has taken the heat away from the other man and Connor can’t help the thought of, is it me? from his mind as he leaves Hank to get dressed.

Why does he keep feeling this way?

He steps out of the room and partially closes the door, making his way out to the kitchen and an enthusiastic Sumo who whines loudly at the back door until Connor opens it and frees him. The android steps out with him and breaths in the fresh morning scent that often accompanies early spring mornings. He can smell the dew on the wet grass, can feel the small breeze flow through his hair. It’s a welcome relief to the heat that’s been assaulting him, but as soon as he thinks this, the breeze nips at his fingertips.

Did he, f _eel_ something for Hank? It certainly felt like his body only ever reacted the way it did whenever he and Hank were alone together or whenever Connor experienced an episode of panic. He knew their bond must have grown significantly before he’d waken back up, he’d been over the images of Hank staring at him longingly many times before. But surely that had only been because the older police man was mourning the loss of the person he used to be. Certainly, their connection to one another only went so far, it couldn’t go any deeper than surface level.

But then why were they dancing around one another, both reaching out but never fully grasping each other tightly like how they’d been intertwined in the bed together. Weren’t those actions saved for the one you cared deeply for? And hadn’t Hank stated, admitted, that he cared for Connor in some capacity? He showed the signs for it: his pupils would dilate, his heartrate would increase, his breathing would quicken, a pink tinge would begin to make its way up his neck and across the bridge of his nose, and he would falter in his speech until the feeling had passed.

Wasn’t this then, affection? Adoration? He couldn’t be entirely sure, nothing in his vast database of human emotions seemed to fit the bill when it came to Hank. The man was something of a mystery to his wide array of knowledge.

And isn’t that crazy to think?

He heads back inside, seemingly dumfounded by this breakthrough, a new sort of directive driving his movements as he makes coffee and turns to see Hank. The man has actually combed his hair a bit, leaving nice wavy locks instead of its usual unruly mess. His walk is still a bit stiff but it seems like he doesn’t try to keep a wide berth around him as he reaches around Connor to grab a mug and fill it with coffee, remarking cheerfully at how carefree Sumo is chasing the birds from the fence.

Connor wants to continue to see the easy smile that creeps up on Hank’s face as he takes that first sip of liquid caffeine, wants to have more mornings where they simply stand together in the kitchen and watch Sumo run about the yard. He’s never realized how much he’s wanted something up to this point, and that feeling isn’t entirely something foreign to his systems. It’s bit hesitant whenever Connor finds that want growing, but it doesn’t buck against, more like, gradually opening up his channels to accept it.

He _wants_ this, whatever it is, he  _wants_ this.

-.-

 They have the unfortunate timing of running into Gavin Reed as they enter through the doors to the office. The pair catch the younger man as he’s grumbling to himself under his breath, hands up near his face with an unlit cigarette balancing in his mouth. The dark circles underneath his eyes seems to be more prominent to Connor and the android would have scanned his face for further information but as soon as Reed meets their eyes, he scowls and turns the other way.

“About time you fucking showered Anderson,” is the only snarky comment he is able to hear as Hank ushers him into the building, grumbling his own biting remark but nothing more. A flash of their respective ID badges and they finally enter into the bullpen, the room alive with the sound of phones ringing and chatter from the other officers as they either talk to one another or someone over the phone.

“Oh joy,” Hank deadpans as they enter further into the building and Connor follows the older man’s gaze to their respective desks to find RK900 standing off to the side. His hands are neatly folded behind his back and upon hearing Hank, the newer model turns around to face them. His eyes are something that still strikes Connor as, interesting. Androids were all equipped with the capability to change their outward appearance should they need, or rather, if the humans who’d purchased them wanted to. Now, however, it was entirely up to the android if they wanted their hair short or long, dark or light, and even if they wanted a different eye color. Most appeared to have a very natural eye color, just like humans, but RK900 was different. The color of his eyes reminded Connor of his human partner, Reed, who had that same color grey in his eyes. It was peculiar, to say the least, but there couldn’t have been any possible way the DPD would have known what RK900 model they were receiving. It just didn’t work that way.

“Good morning Lieutenant Anderson,” he tips his head towards Hank who stops a few steps from his desk before fixing his gaze down at Connor. He’s only an inch taller, a bit broader across the shoulders, and the placement of his eyebrows makes it look like he’s perpetually disappointed or upset.

“Connor,” his voice is almost the same as his own, perhaps a tad deeper maybe even more robotic perhaps. This model makes him feel like he’s the younger one of them as opposed to having been created first and, technically, older.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” Hank asks dryly as he steps around the RK unit and shrugs off his jacket to place it over the back of his chair. Connor watches the way the newer model carefully takes one step back, only his eyes moving to watch as Hank sets himself down in his seat, arms folded across his chest as the man regards the android with an unimpressed look.

Hank is normally a tolerable man, able to withstand about anything life deems worthy to throw his way. So, the slight clipped tone in which he’s addressing RK900 causes Connor to cast his eyes down to stare at the older man. He takes in the way Hank has his arms crossed over his chest, mouth drawn down at the corners and eyes slightly narrowed but not in a way that indicated the man was angry. Far from it, judging by the way his fingers are tapping against the sleeve of his shirt, Connor took it that Hank was anxious speaking to RK900 rather than feeling put out by his presence.

“I’ve come to ask a request of you, Lieutenant,” he begins smoothly, rolling back his shoulders as he stiffly moves to face the older man head on, “I’ve come seeking advice from Connor regarding human interactions within the workplace”.

Hank’s facial expression is almost comical, it’s caught between being incredibly annoyed with a dash of perplexity thrown into the mix, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he’s heard the RK unit correctly. Connor finds it amusing but he only moves towards RK900 to place a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

“I’m certain the Lieutenant can afford a few moments of my time in order to help a fellow coworker,” he begins gently as he cocks an eyebrow over to Hank. The older man retains his bewildered mixture of an expression on his face before letting out a huff of breath and waving a hand dismissively in the air.

“Yeah sure, go ahead,” he moves to turn on his computer, turning his head to look over his shoulder and fix an unreadable gaze up at RK900, “I’ll be here if you need me”.

  
“Thank you, your cooperation in this situation is appreciated”, RK900 turns his attention down to him, inkling his head towards the small space off to the right of Fowlers office, “Connor, would you join me in the breakroom?” He doesn’t wait for him to respond, merely begins to move in that direction, assuming Connor will follow behind. RK900’s strides are quick and sure and Connor isn’t able to give an apologetic glance over at Hank before he’s playing catch-up.

RK900 waits for him at one of the tables in the breakroom, the one closest to the coffee machine and tucked away just enough where the noise from the bullpen doesn’t reach all the way. He stands there with his hands behind his back, LED on the side of his face pulsing a comforting blue.

“What is it that you wished to discuss with me?” He feels slightly odd having to call the newer model by his designation. He isn’t exactly _just_ a machine anymore, Markus’ revolution saw that android could _choose_ what they wanted, but Connor also isn’t entirely aware if the RK unit has chosen a name for himself.

“I’ve taken note of your partnership with Lieutenant Anderson,” he says without noticing the lack of any sort of name following Connor’s question, “I’m afraid in order to rectify the mistakes of your model, those at Cyberlife deemed it appropriate to limit the effectiveness of my social module”.

“As such, it has made working with Detective Reed,” he pauses for a brief moment, lips forming a thin line before he continues, “challenging to put it lightly”.

Connor gives a contemplative hum at the information provided to him, moving to lean his arms onto the table in front of them as he regards RK900’s conundrum. He’s not in the least bit offended by the newer model’s words, they only make him shift on his feet once before he settles back down, he didn’t have any say in the matter about his creation. If he’d been modeled after Connor, then it stood to reason that Cyberlife would do away with certain modules he’d been given. He’d caught onto Reed’s difficult nature far quicker than Connor had, and that had been in part due to Connor’s social module having to work overtime in any interaction he had with the young detective. It made sense to him that RK900 would seek him out for information regarding something like this.

He might not have the whole story when it came to his work relationship with Hank, but the android _had_ gotten a glimpse into the unruly behavior Hank’s file had stated in large bold letter before he’d even gotten down to the man’s name.

**DOES NOT PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS**

Connor is fairly certain someone, namely Fowler, played a part in adding that tidbit of information into Hank’s files, and it wasn’t wrong in the slightest.

“I’m hoping you can provide me with direction on how to navigate the impulsiveness that can be human emotions”.

RK900’s words pluck him from his inner musings and back into the breakroom. His face remains passive but the intense curiosity and _need_ to understand how to work effectively with someone like Reed is something Connor quickly identifies with.

"How so?', he prompts as a way to gain further insight into what it is that the RK unit wants from him.

"Detective Reed and I have," the other android pauses and furrows his brow, which only adds into the intimidating figure he creates. It makes him look infinitely more intense and judgmental than Connor believes he's aware of but he remains quite and allows the android the time to gather his thoughts.

"I was merely offering advice over the proper way to input data more efficiently when Detective Reed decided it best to throw insults rather than constructive criticism and has since, been outside the building". He rolls back his shoulders, the flicker of discomfort crossing over his features before melting away into a perfect picture of indifference and Connor wonders for an brief moment on where exactly he fits into the whole scheme of things. Is he more machine than human? More robotic and plastic rather than having conscious thoughts and feelings? The RK unit before him appears more machine, and inside, Connor feels this strange pull, like he's meant to be the same but can't understand the odd itch that starts at the base of his skull and travels down his spine.

“Learning how to navigate human unpredictability can be quite the challenge,” Connor finally says after another couple of moments, trying to shake the feeling from his body, “but I suggest taking a step back and try getting to know Detective Reed from a distance due to the limited functionality of your social module, of course”, he politely informs his successor. Connor watches as the RK unit’s LED cycles yellow for a brief moment, head tipping forward as a sort of contemplative expression takes hold of him, though it looks more like he’s irritated at Connor.

“It seems as though Detective Reed might benefit from my detachment of his personal space,” and then, “would offering a token of my sincerity towards a healthy partnership be beneficial in any way?”

A good question indeed. Did Reed even _have_ anything that he particularly liked? Connor’s eyes flicked over to the coffee maker on the long island behind the newer model. He’d often seen Detective Reed walking out of the breakroom with a cup of coffee in hand, usually at least three times. One right in the morning, one before noon, and then one right before the end of the day. It wasn’t much, but certainly better than nothing he supposed, it was well before noon. . .

“Perhaps also donning appropriate clothing would help smooth things with the Detective as well,” Connor watched as those grey eyes moved up and down over his person before RK900 released his hands from behind his back to stare down at his bright white jacket. Connor himself had never had an android identifying jacket at least, not that he could remember.

“Certainly, couldn’t hurt,” he began as he pushed himself away from the table and towards the coffee machine, making a cup. When he turned back around, RK900 was staring at him, face still impassive but eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity when Connor handed him the coffee cup.

“Try this first, then go from there,” RK900 turned his eyes down to look into the cup, making a contemplative hum before bringing them back up to look at Connor.

“Thank you, Connor, I will use this information to my advantage”.

Connor is about to reply to him when he gets cut off by the sound of footsteps and a gruff voice, “We gotta go Connor”. Both androids turn their heads to see Hank standing there, mouth curled into a bitter grimace and eyes distinctly remaining on the floor and Connor doesn’t need to scan the man to sense his unease.

“Lieutenant?”

“There’s been another body found only, it’s human this time”.

-.-

Everything around them was in bad shape. The floor beneath their feet was covered with stain upon stain, colors mixing together to form the dingiest of rusty browns Connor had ever set his eyes on. There were boxes piled up in one corner of the room, most collapsing in on themselves now with their contents strewn across the floor. The television was on but muted, the images of random commercials going past as they made their way further into the cramped one-bedroom apartment space.

A few other police officers were at the apartment as well, some taking photos of the kitchen that was in disarray with knives clattered onto the floor and a gallon of milk tipped over and spilling its contents onto the dirty floor. Hank was over there with them, sharing quiet words with the two officers as they pointed out things misplaced here and there, his blue eyes hard as ice.

Connor meanwhile was crouching next to the reason _why_ they’d been called here. Laying out in front of him was a young male with short brown hair that curled on the ends. His mouth was open with a trail of blood trailing out the side, his lips were chapped and irritated from where he’d been picking at the dead skin there, it looked like it’d been a habit for years judging by the way his eyes picked up on the faint scarring there. His eyes were open wide and unseeing, the brown of what they’d been was starting to cloud over and become murky.

In front of him he heard RK900 make a small sound, almost a sort of hum, as he took his thumb and swiped at the blood trailing from his nose. Connor shifted on his feet a bit as he waited, eyes going over to Hank to see that the man’s back was to him and something about that sent a sense of relief flooding through his systems.

“James Alexander, 25 years of age, no criminal record,” RK900 listed off the information orderly and precisely, “time of death is estimated to have been five days ago”. Connor watched as a dark expression clouded the newer model’s eyes, his lips pursing slightly in thought. He’d invited the RK unit with them, in an effort to reduce the waves of stress and tension they’d received from Reed upon his re-entry into the station, and partially due to his own curiosity. He was interested to know how RK900 behaved when out in the field, much to Hank’s utter annoyance.

“His neighbor was the one to call it in,” Connor provided as he came to stand at his full height, RK900 following suit, “he said he and James would spend a majority of their time mingling with one another but their social interactions had all but ceased up until a couple days ago”.

RK900 narrowed his eyes, his LED cycling from blue to yellow as he turned that intense gaze towards Connor, “How can that be? I don’t imagine humans having the ability to reanimate once they have died,” he dipped his head down to the deceased human body, “this man is in no condition to be communicating with anyone, has been for five days”.

Connor narrowed his own eyes, an almost perfect reflection of the way RK900 was doing so, only his eyes weren’t as devoid of emotion. It was a bit confusing, having someone close to the victim contradict the time that had passed from the moment of death up until now. But James’ friend didn’t have any reason to believe his friend was dead, especially if they were able to continue on as if nothing had happened. Something wasn’t quite adding up but all he had to go off of was the weird circumstances of the information not lining up to appear as a textbook case.

“If there’s anything here, it appears we might be at the mercy of forensics,” Connor concluded, his eyes roaming up and down one more time. It looked there could have been some bruising around the dead man’s neck, but the coloring around the skin had already started to fester and if he _had_ , then Connor’s scanners couldn’t make out the difference.

Frustrating.

The newer model tipped his head in agreement, though there was a flicker of something that flashed across his face, like a thought he’d suddenly remembered. But as quick as Connor had caught sight of it, the look vanished and the RK unit turned to examine the rest of the messy sate the living room was in. Connor wasn’t able to examine the fleeting emotion that crossed over his chest as at that moment, Hank’s voice sounded from behind.

“What’re we working with?”

Connor folded his arms across his chest as he turned slightly to face Hank, his eyes watching RK900 make his way slowly across the room.

“25-year-old male, one James Alexander who, up until now, had no brushes with the law,” he catches himself as well as Hank off guard with that last bit, the older man’s lips quirking at the edges like he wants to smile but doesn’t. It’s not something entirely out of the realm of his programming, it comes with the territory of having his social module, but phrasing it the way he had wasn’t something his coding could easily replicate.

“It would appear he’s suffered from some sort of blunt trauma to the head,” Connor continues on regardless of that befuddled expression Hank is still wearing, “and seems to have bitten down on his tongue on impact, though that doesn’t appear to have been what killed him”.

“Further analysis from our forensic team is needed to investigate further due to the body being out like this, any other information gathered at this time could be considered to be contaminated”. He dropped his hands back to his side, watching the confusion slip away from Hank as the older man cast his gaze down at the body before them before letting out a huff of breath.

“Your scan show time of death?”

“Yes, approximately five days”, though technically it’d been RK900 who had deciphered that particular bit of information. He watches the way Hank slowly folds his arms over his own chest, eyes hardening once again as they flicker up and down the body that’s laid out on the ground.

He’s come to recognize that look, the one that makes the lines in Hank’s forehead more prominent whenever he pursed his lips together. The look that meant Hank was contemplating the bizarre list of facts that were being presented to them both and finding that there were holes he could easily make. Connor doesn’t get much time to properly formulate a response because as soon as he’s ready to open his mouth to speak, the flash of a body moving out of the corner of his eyes catches his attention.

It’s like he doesn’t have enough time to react because multiple things happen at once. He hears RK900 shout a command, watches as he darts out of the door. His eyes flicker over to Hank whose hand is in the air with his weapon aimed, his voice is hard as he yells out commands to the other officers who bolt from the room. All at once, he feels like he’s been in a similar situation, and it feels like he doesn’t need to say anything to Hank because all he does is catch the older man’s gaze and tips his head forward.

And then he’s running out the door.

The cacophony of movement and footsteps greets him as he runs down the hallway, following the bodies of the other officers as they make their way down the stairs, voices overlapping each other as they call in for more reinforcements to be on the ready should they need it. Connor takes the steps down two at a time, gaining more distance from the other officers and peers down the edge of the banister. Down further below, he can make out RK900 chasing after a hooded figure, both of which are flinging themselves down onto the lower levels by jumping over the banisters. It’s not the safest option, but Connor decides that it’s worth the risk, especially since they’ve not got much to go off of.

He grabs the railing and leaps over the edged as he rounds a corner, jumping over gracefully and landing with a loud thud before repeating the action a few more times. He’s able to hear RK900’s insistent demands more clearly now, but the hooded figure doesn’t pay him any mind. They simply make it down to the lowest level and barrel their way out of the door, the metal bar slamming loudly into the stare well as the newer model follows him out onto the streets.

Connor isn’t far behind them, and he’s just able to see the bright white tails of RK900’s jacket as he turns down to the left down the long alley way the door led them all out of. Now on even ground, he’s able to close the distance between him and the others.

“He’s fast,” he hears RK900 say as he turns his head slightly to look at Connor, “but there’s no outrunning us both”.

Another few sharp turns down the winding alley streets and suddenly Connor realizes where they’re being led to. He slows his pace slightly while RK900 keeps up the chase, his focus on catching the hooded figure single minded in nature.

“We won’t be able to follow him any further,” Connor yells but the newer model pays him no mind, he simply increases his pace and he has no choice but to do the same and follow.

The alley way opens up onto a busy section of the road, cars zooming past without any inclination as to what’s happening just a few feet from them. The hooded figure chances a look back, but it’s too fast and their face is covered too well, and Connor isn’t able to get a good lock on them so he can scan them. They run out onto the busy section of road, expertly weaving in and out of the traffic as if they’d done so a million times before.

RK900 is ready to jump out into the road but something inside Connor smacks him squarely in the chest and before he realizes what he’s doing, he moves to tackle the newer model to the ground. Neither is entirely prepared for that, and they fall to the ground just shy of the busy road into a pile of awkward limbs. In the distance, there are police sirens and Connor becomes filled with relief as well as anxiety at the same time. RK900’s LED is cycling through yellow, his eyebrows slightly raised.

He’s not entirely sure _why_ he’d just tackled the RK unit to the ground but the part of him filled with anxiety seems to take pleasure in knowing RK900 is still by his side and that chasing the hooded figure out onto a busy stretch of road isn’t the brightest of ideas.

-.-

Walking back into the precinct fills him with anxiety again. It’s there, humming underneath his chassis, snaking its way around his wiring and gripping him tightly. It’s uncomfortable and his hands automatically reach up his neck but he’s reminded that he didn’t put on a tie this morning. Hank watches him fidget as they walk back to their desks, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he vaguely hears him say he’s going to go fill in Fowler about what happened. Connor watches him go, the anxiety hitching as he watches Hank turn to leave but he can’t find it in himself to get up and follow.

He decides to close his eyes and lower the frequency of his audio receptors, he wants a moment to reflect.

“Connor,”

But it doesn’t look like he’s going to.

His eyes flicker back open and he turns his attention to his right to find RK900 giving him one of those intense looks again, though it appears his eyebrows are ever slightly raised in question. The RK unit’s LED is cycling through yellow, had been since Connor had tackled him to the ground. He felt a sudden staticky sensation crawl its way up the back of his neck and prod the side of his head and his eyes twitch a few times as he feels RK900 enter into his personal headspace.

_There appear to be some discrepancies within your coding_ , RK900 informed him, the lack of intonation in his voice making it sound like he was entirely bored of the situation but the way those eyes pin Connor to his seat makes something cold suddenly swirl in the pit of his stomach.

_Does it have to do with what happened? You **did** appear to be experiencing an increase in stress on our way back here, did I perform poorly?_

Connor’s mind latches onto that last line of coding streaming from RK900, the lines of it turning into words his own systems latch onto and try to push back against whatever else is circling inside of him.

_No. . ._ he begins slowly, his own LED matching RK900’s as he responds back, _you did well, I will have to do further evaluations on my systems but your concern is, welcome._

It’s actually _far_ from welcome, it’s like an itch underneath the palm of his hand that’s eating away at his chassis and he wants to scratch at it but he balls his hands into fists instead and scoots closer to his desk. It’s not the newer model, he tells himself as RK900 nods his head and walks back to his shared space with Reed, but he can’t seem to shake off that feeling that assaults him from the inside out. Maybe he’s more concerned about the newer model than he’d initially believed.

Connor continues to watch as RK900 makes his way back to his own desk and sits down in his chair stiffly, watches the way Reed regards him openly. The young detective’s mouth moves but he decides not to invade on their conversation as the man’s own grey eyes shift over to where he’s sitting and Connor decidedly moves his head down to stare at his computer screen.

At least he’s not yelling, a marked improvement but it’s another thing Connor adds to his own personal list that’s making the itch under his synthetic skin crawl.

-.-

He’s staring down at the pot of boiling water, the uneasiness in him had quieted down a bit but it’s still there, simmering just under the surfaces. From the living room, he hears Hank’s raucous laughter and can feel the corners of his lips pull up into a small grin as he grabs the box of whole-wheat pasta and pours some of the spiral noodles into the pot. The older man had offered to help make dinner saying that, “I’m not _that_ big of a dick that I’d make you do everything, Jesus Connor”, and had helped trim down the fattier bits from the chicken breasts the android currently had sizzling on the pan to his left.

It was nice, he realized as he gently stirred the pasta, to be surrounded by the noises coming from Hank and the television, the pot of water adding to the symphony of sounds that his mind provided a singular word for.

_Home._

Connor furrows his brow slightly at the word, turning his head around just as Hank tries, and fails, to contain his laughter at the antics happening on the television. It’s some sort of old comedy show that Hank said he grew up watching, the characters on the show appear to be some sort of humanoid animals that are wearing clothing. Connor doesn’t quite get the appeal, but it’s making Hank laugh nonetheless and so he supposes that’s all that matter because this feels like he belongs.

There’re still a few empty pizza boxes on the kitchen table and Connor moves to pick them up and toss them away when he hears Hank speak up from his place on the couch.

“Hey, no, I’ll get ‘em”, he slowly rises from the couch, Sumo perking his ears up from his dog bed off near the television but not bothering to follow Hank into the kitchen. Connor’s closer and Hank is moving slower, so the android quickly snatches them up but not before a larger hand slams it back down onto the table. Hank’s fingers curl around the boxes, mouth curled into a half smirk and half grimace.

“Oh, come on, just let me”, the older man tugs the boxes in his direction and Connor only gives him a couple of inches. He could very well rip the man’s grip from the boxes, could easily use his own strength against the man, but he doesn’t want to.

“I assure you I can handle making dinner while simultaneously throwing away pizza boxes,” he counters as he tugs the boxes back towards him. He watches as Hank rolls his eyes at him, shaking his head before leaning back and shrugging his shoulders. The older man allows Connor to grab the boxes up and toss them into the garbage can while he makes his way over to the stove.

“Guess I forget how stubborn you can be,” there’s a tinge of nostalgia to his voice and it catches Connor off guard. He turns and goes back to the stove, watching as the older man stirs the pasta in its bubbling water, his eyes not meeting his own.

“I never would’ve thought I’d be here,” he starts up again after a brief stretch of silence, “having you here making food for me instead of going down to Chicken Feed or ordering in”. He gives a bitter laugh at that, letting out a heavy sigh as he finally turns his head to look at Connor. His eyes are bright and present, but look like he’s staring off into the distance, like there’s something more interesting that Connor, who is currently standing next to him.  
“You were so pissy about me eatin’ a burger from there,” Hank says, his tone still wistful, “rattled off how it had, ‘more calories and cholesterol’, or something,” the older man’s eyebrows furrow and the corners of his lips twitch up into a small half smile.

“Like I was gonna _stop_ eating there just because you said so,” he gives out another huff of breath, and turns his eyes back down to stir the pot of pasta.

There an odd sensation running down Connor’s back, like something’s making a wet trail from his spine down the small of his back. He thinks he shouldn’t be able to feel it quite as well as he currently is, like something is currently dripping down his back. He can see the pot beginning to boil harder and Hank delicately pulls a noddle from the pot and pops it into his mouth, nodding his head and instructing Connor to step aside. He’s already placed a colander into the skin to drain the pasta, and he does move, it’s just a bit slower than Hank seems to want because he casts an odd look towards him that he isn’t sure how to take.

Hank tips the pot too high and hot water splashes out as the pasta falls into the colander below. It bites at the older man’s finger tips and he hisses in pain and Connor can see it fall onto his own skin but he can’t seem to feel the temperature of the water that he knows is hot. The older police man shakes the pasta free of water a fee times before placing it back into the pot, bringing up a can of pasta sauce to Connor’s face, asking if this is the one he’d planned on using. He feels his mouth move, feels the words tumble from his lips but can’t register what it is he says, Hank just gives him another weird face and dumps the whole bottle of sauce into the pot.

It suddenly smells wet and dingy, like there’s too much smoke mixing with the scent of rain and he can hear the sound of cars coming and going. There’s a strong smell of meat wafting in the air, the sound of it sizzling against a hot pan or grill and with it comes the vivid image of an orange umbrella and blinking yellow lights. He feels his body stumble slightly when he gets hit with a wave of wonder and interest. But then it gets stamped out by a feeling of irritation and confusion, his body suddenly feeling like it’s weightless. Then it suddenly shifts and he’s warmed all over, his heart suddenly beating fast against his chest, and he’s felt that before many times in the past few days when he’s looked at Hank. It’s certainly not the most _unpleasant_ instances of fragmented memories he’s received, but it feels by far to be more disorganized in nature.

And then he feels something wet run down his back again, and this time he can feel it fall down his face and something tight pulls at his stomach. He feels trapped and cornered, but something about it all feels _right_. He’s meant to be going down this but he’s reluctant to step foot in front of that wall again, he’s _afraid_.

“Connor?”

Concern. Worry. Apprehension. They all color the older man’s voice and he’s thrown back into the kitchen. His eyes automatically find Hank’s and he can see every one of those emotions that had fallen from his mouth at just the simple use of his name. His mouth is closed around a mouthful of food—when had he sat down? —and swallows slowly, lips parting as if he wants to say more but can’t figure out the words.

“Lieutenant?” He asks, suddenly realizing that he’s sat himself down at the table as well, and he tilts his head to one side.

He watches as Hank brings another mouthful of food to his mouth, “You just, spaced out on me there for a sec,” and then once he’s done chewing he adds, “everything all right?”

Connor considers that question for a moment, the world around him becoming more solid and concrete as the feelings from the memories fade, like a whisper on the wind. Part of him wants to answer that he is, that Hank doesn’t need to worry about him, but another says that it’s acceptable to be more open and honest with the older man.

“Yes,” he says despite himself, “I’ll go take Sumo out while you finish eating”. Connor quickly stands and moves to grab the canine’s leash, calling out to him as he enters the living room and ignoring the way Hank calls out to him.

Everything is cleaned up when he walks back into the house, Hank on the couch with a glass of water partially brought up to his lips and the scent of nicotine hanging heavy in the air. Connor wrinkles his nose slightly at the smell but makes no move to comment on it, he simply unclips Sumo from his leash and watches at the large dog pads over to Hank and drools over his sweatpants. He listens as the older man showers the dog in affection, his voice rising and falling in octaves similar to how one would talk to a child, as he heads off the Hank’s bedroom to retrieve the clothes the man lets him sleep in.

He's taken aback when he goes to leave the man’s bedroom and he bumps into him, a huff of breath escaping past his lips even though he doesn’t need to breathe. Strong fingers close around both his arms, holding him in place even as he tries to take a step forward. Connor knows again that he can easily break himself out of the hold Hank has him in, but once again, he doesn’t try to.

“I may not be the smartest when it comes to emotions but,” Hank begins in a gravelly voice, “don’t try and take me for someone stupid, I’m a cop remember?” That he is, and of course Connor hadn’t forgotten, they worked at the same place after all but deep down the android knew what he was alluding to.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he starts, moving his eyes to stare down at the floor as Hank slowly released him now that he’s certain he’s not going to be ignored.

“Then mind telling me what’s going on with you?”, softer this time but still gruff in a way that only Hank could speak to him and have it feel like he wasn’t entirely in trouble.

Connor kept his eyes down, refusing to meet Hank’s gaze. The older man only meant to help after all, there was genuine distress mingling into his words and the android could tell that he wasn’t lying or putting it on for show, he knew this already. But still, there’s was a small part of him that couldn’t outright say it, couldn’t share the reason behind what he was feeling because part of him was worried about the implications it would have on the other man.

“It’s. . .it’s these memories. . .”

And yet, it was tugging at him as he tried to navigate life with the little information he’d retained. Added to that, was the fact that he was beginning to _feel_ more and _want_ more and even though his systems didn’t raise any warnings, it still felt like something forbidden to him but yet he didn’t turn himself entirely away from. It was confusing and disorienting, trying to distinguish what _he_ felt and what was brought up from the memories.

Connor chances a glance up at Hank and sees the way the man’s eyes are narrowed slightly, his face pulled down into a grimace as if he’d eaten something particularly sour. The android couldn’t blame him, he’d basically just told him the root cause of what was wrong with him and now the older police man was staring at him like he’d stolen something and Connor had come to collect.

“Are they, hurting you?” Hank asked, his voice low and quiet, the edges of his words wavering slightly but still coming out strong. It must hurt to ask such a thing and have the possibility of the answer being something you didn’t agree with. The question even stung Connor a bit because they didn’t hurt him physically, not necessarily, but rather they just overloaded his systems and threw his programming out of whack and caused everything within him to go into overdrive as it tried to correct itself. The last few had been extremely terrible, but this latest one had felt like he’d been dreaming almost, walking through the images and emotions almost carefree as he’d been whisked away by it all.

No, they didn’t hurt like that, but not all of them would be as pleasant surely.

“It’s, more confusing than anything,” he decided to settle on, “I don’t know what to ever make of them”.

Hank hums at that, crosses his arms over his chest before he speaks again, his eyebrows slightly raised and his lips pursed, “I think we talked about seeing Markus about this, see if he could help”.

Connor thinks back to the sense of awe and bewilderment that he’d felt earlier when he’d been standing next to Hank. He wasn’t sure if Markus and his associates _could_ do anything about his memories, and he wasn’t too sure if he liked the idea of ridding himself of them either.

“I don’t. . . _want_ to get rid of them, not necessarily but, being able to make sense of them again would be nice”.

  
Hank dips his head a bit lower, looking at him with raised eyes one might do to a child who’s talking nonsense, “If they’re gettin’ to you then I don’t want you to feel obligated to keep them, especially if it’s for my sake”.

Connor opens his mouth to protest, to say something more but Hank holds up a hand, running it on the back of his neck as he looks away, uncomfortable.

“Let’s call it a night, huh? I’m beat”.

Hank moves into the bathroom to begin his nightly routine and Connor takes the opportunity to change. He notices that the other man doesn’t question him when he follows him into the bedroom, doesn’t make any sort of comment when Connor crawls under the covers with him. The lights turn off and they’re bathed in darkness and he rolls onto his side so he can face Hank, his eyesight adjusting quickly in the lack of light. He watches as Hank shuffles about for a few moments until the man lifts up an arm.

“Come here,” it toes the line between question and command but Connor follows it anyway.

He rests his head in the crook of Hank’s arm, lets himself relax into the warm embrace as the man’s arm drapes around him and he brings a hand up to press lightly onto Hank’s chest. Connor matches his own mechanical heart to the beat of Hank’s and slowly enters into stasis, the sound of the gentle _thuds_ lulling him to sleep like a lullaby to a child.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything in the beginning in this chapter is just my own internal musings about the way interfacing in the world of DBH works and I've made it work for the narrative in this particular setting.
> 
> That and my loose understanding of how basketball works lol

Hank tries to tell himself that he’s fine. Tries to convince himself that he’s perfectly fine with seeing Connor with different wires coming in and out of the open paneling of his back. The android doesn’t seem particular perturbed by the intrusion, he’s resting most of his weight on his forearms as he’s currently leaning forward so Simon can place a few more wires at the base of his neck. He’s taking it all in stride and had reassured Hank that he would be fine, but he’d insisted on not leaving him alone.

He was currently standing off to the side in Carl’s painting studio turned into a makeshift medical office once again. There was a long wooden table, paint splatters covering the legs but table top covered with various medical instruments specifically designed for use on androids.

The two of them had come to the aid of Markus and Simon once again, this time, to see if anything could be done regarding Connor’s repressed memories. Simon had found it entirely unlikely that anything new would surface but Markus had reasoned through to him, bringing up that there was much to learn about the mechanics that comprised their bodies. Before, it’d always been Cyberlife pulling the strings, providing repairs and updates and offering full body repairs should anything catastrophic happen to any one of their androids. Simon had relented, seemingly not wanting to press the issue further, and was now putting on the final touches to the work he was currently doing.

Markus was on standby near one of the monitors that faced away from Hank, surprisingly not as transparent like much of the technology he’d grown accustomed to since working with the DPD, but he supposed it was meant to maintain Connor’s privacy. It made sense, most of the equipment Markus and Simon had gathered was from one of the Cyberlife stores they’d infiltrated during the revolution, the buildings were still in disrepair as the company was still picking up the pieces left behind. Five months and Elijah Kamski had only made one brief public appearance, mainly to state that he’d been brought back into the company, but ever since then, they’d been radio silent. It was unnerving to say the least, to have their buildings looming off in the distance, their build boards still promoting androids as nothing more than things.

Connor lets out a small grunt, his shoulder twitching forward and it drags Hank back into the present. He’d offered to bring the android to see Markus and Simon for the past two days, the topic of conversation coming up only when it seemed the two of them were in over their heads emotionally. Regardless, Hank had made good on his promise, rising from bed early and driving them both to Markus’ home. He was nervous about what the outcome of today would mean for Connor and himself. While it was promising to have bits and pieces of Connor’s memory coming back to him, it was proving to be more than what the android had bargained for, and Hank couldn’t stand to see Connor beat himself up about not being who he once was.

It truly didn’t matter to Hank, now, he just wanted to see Connor happy and being able to move forward.

“Sorry about that,” came Simon’s gentle voice, “just a few more adjustments and we’ll be ready to go, how are things looking Markus?” The blonde-haired android cast a quick look over his shoulder at the other android as he continued his work. Markus’ eyes moved back and forth from the screen, hands interfacing with the monitor’s keyboard before looking up.

“Everything is ready, Simon,” Markus brought up his head to set his mismatched eyes onto the blonde android, the ghost of a smile spreading across his face but quickly disappearing.

“All right,” Simon said slowly, still focusing on Connor, “just one more adjustment, and. . .there”. He let out a satisfied huff of breath, turning his bright blue eyes to stare back at Markus who let out an amused chuckle. Simon made his way towards the other android, Connor turning his head back to watch as he went, and scanned his blue eyes over the information that was surely trickling onto the screen in front of him.

“Now,” he began slowly once more, eyes quickly scanning back and forth in a dizzying motion, “this is purely speculative, and we haven’t exactly got _all_ of what we need but,” he looked up and directed his gaze towards Hank, “we _should_ be fine”.

Hank let out a grunt, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the way Simon spoke, the sense of uncertainty gnawing at the android and coating his words in turn caused the older man’s own anxiety over the whole thing to increase. He casts his eyes down and toes at the wooden floors, trying to relieve the worry eating away at him.

“You’d have a better idea than me so,” Hank shrugs his shoulders and runs a hand through his hair, “safer this way too”.

Both Markus and Simon nod their heads in tandem and it amuses Hank to see them so in sync, part of him wonders if it’s something still within his grasp. His eyes fall onto Connor, the android scratching at his wrist where a wire is sticking out of. His face is drawn into concentration, his ministrations careful and slow as Simon had instructed him to take care around the wiring.

“I’ll be monitoring Connor’s wavelengths and coding for any anomalies,” he turns his head to look at Markus, “Markus will be able to interface with him and help should the need arise”. He leads the other android over to the table Connor is situated on and connects a few wires onto Markus’ temples and wrist, “This is, again, something we’ve not quite tested before, I’m not entirely sure it will work”.

He turns his attention towards Hank, his blue eyes serious and mouth set into a thin line, “There’s no guarantee that anything will come of this, we could be creating newer problems that Connor might have to face so again, are you certain this is what you want to do?” He directed the question towards the both of them, looking back and forth between Connor and Hank.

They were attempting to, “recover”, Connor’s memories in a similar fashion to how one would recover lost items on their computer or phone. They’d try and have Markus interface with Connor and have him be a sort of outside source in helping the other android navigate his way through the ruins of his memories. They weren’t trying to wipe them entirely nor were they trying to forcibly move them up to the surface. It was more of a preliminary test to see if such a thing could even work.

His eyes met Connor’s expectant gaze, the brown of them bright in the early morning light and filled with a nervous sort of energy that showed in the way he kept playing with the digits of his hands. No doubt imagining himself playing with that quarter Hank had given back to him after so long. It was a nervous tick, something someone often did without fully realizing, something to ease their anxiety or stress in a certain situation. The older man knew Connor was appreciative of the effort Hank was putting into making sure he was comfortable but the prospect of this session actually yielding results that they could work with was. . .well. . .it was quite a lot to take into consideration.

“Yes,” came Connor’s voice, no louder than a whisper amongst the noise of Hank’s own thoughts, but at the steady way he answered, the noise quieted down and nodded in silent affirmation before speaking.

“Yeah,” and then, “yeah, let’s do it”.

Simon gave one final nod, doing one last once over everything he’d set up, and headed back to the monitor.

“All right, it’s just a quick little session, nothing fancy,” whether he meant this for everyone in the room or just himself, Hank couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to ease the apprehension still hanging in the air.

“Right,” it was Markus’ voice, ever steady and calm as he held out a hand towards Connor, palm facing up, the corners of his lips were quirked up in a sort of half smile, “shall we?”.

Ever polite and courteous, even when he wasn’t standing in front of a large crowd whose roars of approval were deafening at the best of times. Connor held out his arm slowly, reaching out for Markus and folding his fingers around the other android’s forearm as Markus slid his palm against Connor’s skin to do the same. The false flesh shimmered where they touched, and then began to trickle away to reveal the hard-white plastic of their chassis.

Their gazes locked on one another in intense concentrations and Hank could make out the way Connor titled his head slightly to one side, it was a small movement, there and then gone as his eyes almost appeared to gloss over. The older man pushed himself from his spot near the door and walked over towards Simon, being mindful to stay on the side where he couldn’t peer over to see the information on the monitor.

Hank had witnessed androids interfacing before, mainly from Connor trying to pry information from unwilling androids, but he figured it was the same basic concept. Peel away the layer on the outside so you could get to what really mattered underneath. He just had never seen anything last longer than a few fleeting seconds, so to watch the way Markus’ forehead creases as he stares straight at Connor, his eyes moving back and forth sporadically, is interesting.

Behind him, Simon makes a thoughtful hum and Hank turns his head slightly to cast a sideways glance down at the blonde-haired android. The skin is pulled back from his fingertips only, his blue eyes focused on the information flooding into the monitor as well as his systems. There’s nothing but that attention to his work, not a single crease in between his eyes that would let Hank know that something wasn’t right. It only appeared that Simon was just as interested in what they were gathering as Hank was in watching Markus and Connor interface.

He briefly wondered what it was like for them, to be connected to another being in such an intimate way and have everything laid out before you. Was it similar to how humans felt whenever they had sex? How two people would come together and open their hearts up to a complete stranger, develop feelings for them, and then eventually fall in love? Or did it go deeper than that? Hank looked down at the tips of his fingers that rested against the meat of his upper arm. It was very much made of blood and muscle, the bone underneath weak against the strength hidden in the frames of the androids he’d surrounded himself with.

Markus lets out a grunt, his eyes darkening as he tilts his head back and forth as if trying to relieve the pressure that’s building in his neck. The lines of plating uncovered by their synthetic skin begins to glow a soft blue and Connor suddenly jolts upright, his spine ramrod straight. From behind, Simon lets out a gust of breath and Hank isn’t sure where to turn his attention to as something heavy spreads throughout his body.

“What is it?”, his voice wavers around the question, an unexpected lump rising in his throat and he tries to swallow it down a few times with little success. Simon’s brows are knitted together, his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth as he worries at it, his eyes flying up and down as he reads what’s on the screen in front of him.

Back in front of him, Markus lets out another grunt, this time it sounds more mechanical and staticky in nature and then very abruptly his eyes fly towards Hank and Simon. There’s alarm in those mismatched eyes, though outwardly, Markus’ face remains entirely passive, it’s the only tell Hank receives before the android behind him confirms what he’s been trying to push aside.

“It’s Connor,” Simon begins, sounding like he’s out of breath even though he isn’t supposed to have the need to breathe, and the tips of Hank’s fingers begin to feel cold and numb. His mouth sets into a thin line and he tilts his head slightly forward, almost tucking his chin against his chest as Simon speaks once more, “there’s something in his coding that’s. . . _leeching_ into Markus”. The android tries unsuccessfully to keep from wrinkling his nose, and as soon as he does, he lifts a hand to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind his right ear.

“It, almost drew me in as well,” he looks back up at Hank with wide blue eyes, “I’ve never seen something quite like this before. . .” he trails off and his eyes flit over lazily to Markus and Hank, the older man only being able to blink in response for a few moments until he takes a step forward and reaches out to place a hand on Simon’s shoulder.

The motion snaps Simon’s attention back to Hank, and he blinks rapidly a few times before there’s a more determined focus seeping back into his facial features.

“Can we do anything?” Hanks asks, finding his voice again, “on our end?” he also adds when he sees the pinched look Simon gives him. It doesn’t lessen up despite his add on question, Simon’s expression remains unchanged. The android ducks his attention down to the monitor in front of him, his head slowly shaking back and forth, and a shaky breath escapes his lips.

“From the short glimpse I was able to interact with, it _appears_ Markus is trying to untangle himself from Connor and this rouge code,” he looks back up at Hank and his eyes have that hard edge to them as they had earlier when Hank and Connor had first proposed the idea to him.

“Markus has a strong will,” he starts slowly and leaves the “but” hanging in the air, his teeth coming out to worry at his bottom lip again before he continues, “but the coding is equally as stubborn and again, I’ve never witnessed this before”. He gives a helpless shrug and wrings his hands together, “We can only hope Markus is able to break free”.

Hank bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes the coppery tang of his blood coating his tongue and he can’t help but prod at the fresh wound in his mouth. He hates standing around, not being able to do anything about the situation he’s found himself in. It reminds him too much of that cold winter night years ago, the fluorescent lights above him buzzing loudly as the sound of shoes squeaking against the linoleum did little to calm his frayed nerves.

He can feel it, that sense of panic and dread steadily coursing through his body, it’s making its way up from his fingers and towards his chest. It’s a well-known sensation that his body almost bends against, like the foam of the mattress did when Connor had first laid next to him. There’s a ringing in his ears that happens next, it starts out muffled but gradually increases in pitch and everything around him fades away. Hank can’t feel it when his body moves forward, making a bee line towards Markus and Connor, can’t hear the panicked scramble of Simon because Hank’s steps are too quick, and he’d been distracted by the flow of information on the screen. He can’t feel his hands reach out towards the white paneling of the androids locked together, he doesn’t even feel the sharp sting of the slap that grazes across his face when Markus finally frees himself.

“Markus!”, it’s Simon’s voice that he hears first, and he turns his head to watch the blonde-haired android quickly walk over to where Markus is standing. He doesn’t remember Markus closing the gap between himself and Simon, but he must have moved at some point because he’s there embracing Simon in a tight hug.

His eyes fall down onto Connor whose brown eyes are clouded over in an almost intoxicated fashion as his mouth is also partially open and his head is propped against his shoulder as if it’s too heavy to hold upright. He notices that he’s being watched, and he gradually lifts his head up and pushes himself into a sitting position.

“Lieutenant,” he speaks his name, but it sounds far off, like he’s dreaming and hasn’t woken up yet. His body feels heavy but there’s relief there too, a mixture of sensations that’s conflicting with the signals his brain in sending out to the neurons in his arms and legs. He’s not sure whether he wants to collapse or shout. It’s too similar to what he’s felt before and just like back then, he can’t find the proper words to express what he’s feeling.

But he takes a step forward anyway, reaches out a hand lined with age and faint scars from years on the job and more recently the abuse he’s drawn on himself. He presses the weight of his palm into Connor’s chest, where he can feel the beat of his artificial heart and he moves in further into the space between himself and the android, tilts his head up until he’s far too close. He’s so close that he can make out the freckles around Connor’s mouth and near the edge of his nose, his eyes trail down and his head follows, bowing down before he places it onto Connor’s shoulder.

Finally, he feels himself take in a deep and ragged breath, as if he hadn’t been breathing up until this exact moment. It burns his throat and cuts deep into his heart, but he’s there, eyes looking down at him and arms wrapping around him to keep the broken pieces from falling apart any further.

He’s there.

-.-

As the door closes he can hear Simon’s voice raise, the hushed whispers becoming sharp and strained as if he’s waiting for Hank and Connor to be out of ear shot so he can vent his frustrations. In all honesty, the older man had no recollection of what he’d done that had raised Simon’s hackles so badly. All he could remember was feeling cold and numb—something he’d grown quite used to over the years despite everything—and next he was being ushered out by Markus who was trying to calm a frantic Simon from having a breakdown.

If it weren’t for the context of the situation, Hank would have found in endearing that Markus was trying to help soothe Simon’s frayed nerves. But as it were, he only felt the lingering hold of that numbness that still gripped the tips of his fingers. Hank tried to trudge up the last time something like this had happened, a moment where he wasn’t entirely in control over his movements and his limbs obeyed a greater power even he wasn’t privy to know about. He figures it must have been back in the early days of Cole’s death, where he’d get so blinded by his grief and rage that he’d sink deep into his emotions and lash out. His mind tearing him away from the physical world, so he didn’t have to feel the way his friend’s faces would cave in, the bone snapping in half whenever he hit just right. Even Ben Collins had steered clear of Hank after he’d broken Miller’s nose over something as trivial as incorrectly filling out a report.

Rightfully so, even Hank wouldn’t have wanted to step anywhere near himself if he could’ve seen the scowl that had been plastered across his face for years after his son’s passing.  
He feels a shiver run down his spine and he shifts in his seat next to Connor, the android eyes him curiously but turns his attention back to the television in front of them. They hadn’t really said much to each other since Connor and Markus had torn themselves away from their interfacing. It seemed as though everything was in order however, Connor looked at him like someone he recognized but there added awareness to the way he was looking at Hank and the older man isn’t sure what to make of it. Surely, it couldn’t be anything good, but he knew better than anyone that it wouldn’t do any good to poke fresh wounds on someone who was still sorting everything out.

Hank didn’t want to poke this bear with a stick, especially since this bear was an android with superhuman strength and could break him in half if he decided to. And that had to be one the scariest thoughts that had crossed his mind in a long time.

The television that they sat in front of stops suddenly on a Detroit Gears game, and in his wandering musings, Hank has a knee jerk reaction to seeing Blake Griffin muscle his way in to create an opening for himself and slam the basketball into the opposing teams hoop to remain ahead. He jerks forward in his seat, hand flying out to land on Connor’s knee—the kid has been flipping through the channels up until this point just by blinking his eyes—and keeps his eyes trained on the screen in front of him.

A guy from the opposing team—the Warlocks, Hank’s mind supplies him—manages to steal the ball out from Reggie Hearn and it sends the Gears scrambling down the court as their opponent is open to making a three-point shot making them that much closer to beating them. For a spilt second, the tension of the other room lifts from Hank’s body and he rubs at his bearded chin in annoyance at his team letting something like that happen so quickly. He lets out a grunt and out of the corner of his eyes, catches Connor staring at him and he can just make out the yellow of the LED that spins on the side of the android’s face.

“Denton Carter’s out for a few weeks, damn bastard decided it was a good idea to throw himself on the floor last game,” he explains as he feels the attention he’s getting from the android bore a hole into the side of his face. He turns his head to meet Connor’s gaze just as the LED spins back to blue, the yellow fading away. The glassy eyes look he’d first gotten had faded away the more they had sat together on the couch, like someone sobering up from a night of drinking as the events of the night before came back to them. There was a soft familiarity within those brown orbs that stared back at him, like the hard lines around them weren’t quite as prominent but rather, taking a backseat for the moment.

It's one thing to have Connor so close to him in the privacy of their shared home, under the cover of darkness where no one else can see how Hank has opened himself up to the android and where he can entertain thoughts he’d normally never allow to see the light of day. He’s not meant to have Connor in such a capacity, hell, he shouldn’t even feel this way towards someone like him. A being meant to last years and years beyond the one they were meant to serve. And besides that, Hank was just a man too broken and too set in his destructive habits to prove worthy of the look Connor was giving him right now. It was a mix between hesitance and open admiration and it again reminds Hank of the way the android would look at him as he’d find himself back in the real world, blinking sleep from his eyes as the night before slowly began to fade from his memory. He can feel his face heat up under Connor’s continued scrutiny and he wants to turn away from it, but he feels like he’s been frozen in place, doomed to stare down into those molten depths he’s found himself drowning in voluntarily. He’s half-heartedly trying to push himself away from the android now, not denying himself to feel any sort of emotion while around him, but not entirely opening himself up to it either.

It’s a thin line he’s found himself walking and he’s unsure of whether to continue forward or to let himself fall into the abyss below.

“Is he your favorite player?” Connor questions slowly, head tilted slightly forward in genuine curiosity. It makes the heat flare up on Hank’s face and this time, he tears his eyes away to scratch at the bridge of his nose.

“I mean”, Hank begins lamely as he tries to formulate a proper response, “yeah, basically”. Damn, he feels about as intelligent as a teenager having to speak in front of the class about the summer reading they totally did over the break. There’s a thoughtful hum that comes from Connor and for a few moments, they return to sitting in silence, thought it doesn’t quite feel as forced or as awkward as before, the tension steadily lifting further.

It’s for a few more moments that they sit in silence, watching as the Detroit Gears manage to make two baskets in a row before Connor speaks up again.

“I think I asked something like that before,” and they turn their heads at the same time to stare at each other. One set cautious while the other is openly curious and at this point, Hank isn’t sure what Connor can and can’t remember. There’s that sort of hope that begins to flicker inside of him, like how it had been during those first few months where he’d clung onto the belief that the android would simply wake up from stasis with all of his memories intact. Hank doesn’t want to feed into it too much, lest he get burned all over again and be back at square one once more, but there’s his innate curiosity that had drawn him in and humored Connor and his incessant ways that snakes its way out into the open. Regardless of the fact that he’s feeling déjà vu.

“What do you mean?” He croaks, the words barely coming out and sounding raspier than he would have liked.

Connor makes an odd noise in the back of his throat, his forehead creasing in thought and his eyebrows pulling down over his eyes, making it look like the effort he’s taking into choosing his words are hurting him in way Hank can’t see.

“At the precinct,” the android says quietly and his eyes flicker down to the side, “Except back then. . .I dragged you away. . .” Connor lifts his head up and looks at Hank, a wistful look coloring his expression that Hank has never seen the android make before.

The memory hits Hank like a ton of bricks and he remembers the flare of annoyance when Connor had brought up the Gears game that he’d been taken away from, however willingly he’d gone after the android had paid for another shot to go.

“There was a pre-recorded game when I found you by yourself that night,” Connor continues and Hank sucks in a sharp breath, turning his eyes away so he can stare at the television in front of him instead. Not even Hank had revisited that particular encounter, not when he felt like he currently facing the biggest “fuck you” from life so far. And this time, he couldn’t necessarily bring himself into drinking his entire weight in alcohol and letting himself fall into the darkness that he still felt was lurking behind him everywhere he went.

He couldn’t bring himself to abandon Connor like he’d intended on doing back then, not after the lengths the android had gone to not only save him, but his people as well.

“It felt like this, when I saw you standing there” Connor shifted in his seat slightly and the turn the conversation had taken piqued Hank’s curiosity as he frowned and tilted his head in the android’s direction, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“What?”

There’s a faint sound of breath that escapes Connor, like a sigh but it sounds. . .lighter in a way that Hank hasn’t heard before. It catches him off guard and he actually turns his head despite himself. A pale hand is curled up against those soft looking lips, the eyes he’s starting to become familiar with once again, are closed ever so slightly and the skin surrounding them are crinkled faintly.

He raises an eyebrow in disbelief, “Are you. . . _laughing_?”

Connor’s eyes snap open, the brown in them seemingly a few shades lighter with the mirth that’s contained within them, and he lowers his hand down to his lap and schools his features.

“It’s hard to say really,” he says once he’s cleared his throat, “I’ve never experienced that particular sensation as I wasn’t created with that specific capability in mind”. He gives Hank an impassive look and Hank’s about to call out for Simon or Markus, but then he sees the quick little quirk Connor’s lips make and so he only narrows his eyes in mock frustration.

“You little shit,” he breathes out as he rubs at the back of his neck, the skin there feels hot under the touch and he’s fairly certain that it’s covered in a splotchy sort of blush that he feels is still gripping his face.

Connor hums quietly, his LED pulsing a calming blue and his eyes are shining with barely contained mirth and it’s the first time since his reactivation that Hank has seen the android so open, so _human_. It takes Hank aback for a moment, and he reaches out a hand to place onto the hands Connor has placed neatly in his lap.

“It feels like that, even now”, the android’s words aren’t making any sense to him, but the way Connor’s eyes darken around the edges as he lowers his eyelids and blinks, those long black eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks. Hanks eyes travel down the android’s face, following the trail of freckles that lead down to the one just above his lips and he wonders what would happen if he inched closer and he wonders if that thought should scare him more, but he finds that he can’t quite muster up the effort to care.

He feels Connor’s hands shift in his lap, and his eyes fall down to watch as the android clasps both of his hands around the one Hank had brought out. The skin there feels real, feels like he’s grasping muscle that keeps the bone underneath it protected instead of just metal and plastic fused together to create the work of art that’s staring at him like he’s the only person that matters.

It suddenly feels overwhelming, and Hank tears his hand away from the warmth, instantly cold without the touch of the android.

“Connor. . .” it’s all he can manage to get out because at the moment he decides to speak, he’s suddenly bombarded with a thousand different emotions. He’s afraid to let himself want this, afraid to reach out and take what’s dangling right in front of him. He doesn’t want to force this on the android for fear that when he does remember, he’ll push Hank away. Tell him that he doesn’t feel that way. That the Connor he knew before and the one he’s getting to know now, are two different people.

Hank Anderson wants Connor. He wants so desperately that he feels the pain of that want blossom in his heart and flow out to the rest of his body with every beat the muscle makes.

“Hank. . .”

And he forces himself to look up at the call of his name, grits his teeth and takes in a sharp breath against the pain because he doesn’t know how far he’s willing to fall down. But damn it, if he doesn’t want to fall down.

There’s a question written into the way Connor is looking at him, like he’s waiting for permission to do or to say something and won’t do so without it. It makes Hank laugh, a breathy sort of laugh that comes out more like a chocked wheeze. Since when has Connor ever waited for permission before? Certainly, never from Hank.

He simply flicks his eyes down to those lips and freckle that’s taunting him now before looking back up at Connor, the heat at the back of his neck flaring up as he inches closer. The android follows his lead, his eyes still locked onto Hank’s and the older man can see the way Connor’s pupils widen and then contract, the closer they get to one another.

Hank feels like a spark of electricity travels from his mouth down to his spine before being fired out to every single nerve in his body, shocking his body until it feels like he’s become hyperaware of his surroundings. The way Connor’s mouth molds to his is slightly off centered and clumsy, how the android simply sits there without a single clue on what he should do next. But those lips are soft, softer than he’d expected and with his heightened senses, it feels like his lips are a blanket come to take away the darkness trapped inside of him and coax him into a peaceful slumber. Connor makes a soft noise, a noise that Hank chases after and wants to hear again, but then there’s the sound of a door sliding open along with loud voices.

And just like that, he feels that spark of energy dissipates, completely draining out of him and leaving him with an aching emptiness that has him grimacing in confusion. Connor’s lips are bright with saliva, the pupils of his eyes blown wide, and he darts out that pink tongue of his to run over that mouth Hank had finally allowed himself to kiss. There isn’t a blush across that face like how it normally would’ve been, his chest is still moving calmly and in fact, the only tell-tale sign of any of this effecting Connor was the hooded look he was fixing Hank with. His LED was facing towards the television so no one but Hank was able to watch the way the blue bled into yellow until it vanished completely.

“It could still _be_ there,” came Simon’s voice, his tone clipped and curt, like he’d been trying to get Markus to see the errors of his ways.

“I told you, I’m fine”, and yet Markus seemed unfazed and when Hank reluctantly tore his gaze away from Connor, he found the other android to have a half-smile stretched across his lips, like he wasn’t quite annoyed as he should’ve been. His eyes find Hank’s and that smile doesn’t disappear, he merely inclines his head in way of silently greeting him before he fully enters into the living space with Simon following close behind.

“The more important question is,” Markus begins as he seats himself across from Hank and Connor, “how are _you_?” He turns those eyes onto Connor, they’re intense in their nature, but there aren’t any lines that mar his forehead if he’d meant to be cross with the android. No, Hank figures it’s just the way Markus was built, lines and contours of his body sharp and prominent. He leans forward and rests his forearms on his legs while Simon sits with a leg crossed over the other, his LED cycling through blue despite the way he casts his eyes down onto him and Connor. He can see the nervous tick of Simon’s foot that gives him away into being irritated over the situation that truly upset at anyone, so Hank straightens himself out and tries to calm the storm that are his own emotions.

Hank watches Connor out of the corner of his eye as the android tilts his head slightly forward, catches the way his LED sputters back into yellow and spins and spins, stuck on the color it seems.

“I’m okay,” the android says after a few moments of silence stretch out in front of them, “it feels. . . _odd_ though”.

Markus makes a soft sort of noise, the edge to his expression softening at the corners of his eyes but it’s still enough to make Hank want to shift in his seat, like he’s being given a stern talking to by his father.

“When we interfaced,” Markus begins slowly, “I was able to guide you along your main memory pathways, allowing you to recover some earlier thoughts and feelings associated with those memories but,” his voice dips down a register and his eyes darken. Next to him, Simon unfolds himself, his eyes losing the hard edge to them and placing a hand on Markus’ back before he continues.

“But, there was a point in accessing your memories where we ran into a security check of sorts,” Markus says in that same low voice, his eyes staring off at a point over to Connor’s right, “and one moment I was walking beside you and in the next. . .you were gone”.

The word hangs in the air and slowly falls back to the ground, it sits heavily in Hank’s chest and he finds himself grimacing, casting a look over to Connor to see the android’s eyebrows are drawn down over his eyes and casting out the light in them. He looks infinitely older when he does that, and Hank isn’t sure why he’s suddenly so aware of what frowning does to Connor’s facial features, but the change is there. The light filtering into the room casts dark shadows under the android’s eyes and it’s like he’s staring down into the pits of despair.

It’s a look that doesn’t suit him.

“I was able to, see _your_ memories through my eyes as well,” Connor’s voice is barely above a whisper, “I could see you here, in this home,” he takes a hand and gestures it around the space they’re sharing, “with Carl, and then as you leapt from a steel beam into darkness, where you found Jericho”.

The name of the safe heaven that Markus had made his own left Connor’s mouth as if he were afraid of the repercussions that might follow. Hank flicked his eyes back to Markus and Simon, both calm in their demeanor—Simon’s restless tick of his leg has died down and he seems to be at ease with the conversation happening.

“And I felt your presence leave, and then, there was. . .nothing. . .” Connor lowers his gaze, looks down at his hands and Hank watches as he opens and closes them. The android’s shoulders stiffen, like he wants to say something more, but the way his eyelashes flicker side to side reveals his reluctance to go any further.

“There was this, presence,” Markus starts up again when Connor doesn’t speak up, “something I’ve never felt, even before I went Deviant, it was almost smothering me with its existence alone”. He takes a moment to cast his gaze to the floor, a flicker of uncertainty crossing over his features and Hank is certain that if Markus had kept his LED it would be cycling through yellow and red and then back again.

“That, presence. . .or coding rather,” this time it’s Simon who speaks, “it, attached itself onto Markus and when I was connected to the monitor it was. . .worming its way into him, like it was. . .” his voice trails off and he shifts in his seat, placing his other foot onto the ground and wringing his hands and shaking his head.

“Trying to take control”, Markus’ voice rings out into the still air around them and Hank doesn’t miss the way Connor flinches beside him.

“I, I had no idea”, Connor’s voice sounds small, like a child getting caught sneaking out of their bed and wandering the house at night. It makes a tight pain settle in Hank’s chest and he lets out a huff of breath.

“And there was no way to know,” Simon quickly adds, a hand flying out from his lap and hovering uncertainly in the air, “this was all just something of an experiment, there were bound to be complications. . .” His eyes waver from Connor and onto Hank, the older man shifting his head back slightly at the way the other android is looking at him.

“What you tried to do—tear their arms from one another—that could have damaged Connor’s cerebral cortex, making it almost impossible for him to process speech and communicate with us”, he lets out a sigh and wrings his hands again as Hank watches him gather his thoughts.

“We don’t yet have the full support of anyone external, we’re only still here because of what Markus had been able to create,” he pauses as he casts his eyes onto the ground, “even with the support of President Warren, we have hundreds of thousands of legal hoops to jump through and in the event that you did pry them apart. . .” Simon trails off again, shaking his head once more before he seems to push himself to say what he’s been avoiding

“It’s just a risk we— _I,—_ don’t feel comfortable exploring further”. His lips pull down at the corners and it’s not a grimace but not a frown either, Hank’s not entirely sure what to call it. He also can’t really remember getting close to Connor and Markus when they’d been interfacing, he just remembers the ringing in his ears when he’d been slapped, the sting having faded away instantly. Guilt pools in his stomach and he lowers his head slightly and frowns, he’s used to doing stupid things to the people around him and so it’s not uncomfortable like it would be for others. It’s only outweighed by the swirls of residual energy from the kiss he can still feel against his own lips and he tries to repress the shudder that creeps up his body.

“Somethin’ like that’s never happened before,” Hank says, his teeth chattering against one another despite the effort he takes to keep his voice calm, “It was like, I was having an out of body experience, or somethin’ like that”. He shrugs and crosses his arms across his chest, “Didn’t mean to mess it all up”.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Markus voices again, “It’s like Simon has said, there was no way to account for everything today”, he gives a small smile that looks nothing more than his lips moving up and then back down, “we may be androids, but without the proper tools, we’re flying blind”. He lets out a tired sigh, a sound so deep that Hank feels it in his bones and instantly feels drained beyond his years.

“We should go,” he quickly says, making the motion to stand, “Connor and I have been here long enough, I’m sure you’re both. . .tired?” He’s not sure if androids can get tired—he remembers seeing Connor look exhausted the day before the revolution, where the threat of his imminent termination had been hanging over him like a noose in a guillotine—but the look Markus gives him seems infinitely grateful despite it all.

He rises from his place on the couch, as do they all, and Markus leads the two of them towards the front door. His words are soft and sincere when he tells them that they’re always welcome at his home, Hank knowns that Markus knows this already but it’s still nice to hear after the trying morning they’ve all experienced. Hopefully, the next time they visit, it will be on better terms.

-.-

The rest of their day is easy and stress free. He and Connor come home and are greeted by an enthusiastic Sumo who whines at the android until he relents—although it doesn’t take much—and all three of them go out to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. The sky is a bright blue, like it always it after the rain and dark gray clouds are finally pushed away by the breeze, revealing the brilliant color of the sky above them. Even the air seems a bit, lighter, in a way. How it easily slides down his throat and fills his lungs and seeps into every nook and cranny, making the ache that’s still in chest dull even further.

Connor walks in step with him, the light from the sun bouncing off his brunette waves and making them brighter, like there’s a filter over it that enhances the coloring of it. The stubborn curl of hair that hangs over the left side of his face bounces and sways despite the rigid way the android is walking, and the frown that had created deep lines in his forehead were steadily lifting as his LED had finally cycled back to blue and stayed there.

Those warm coffee eyes find his own and the android smiles at him, it’s not a full-blown upturn of lips rather, it’s just the rising of the right corner of his mouth as it reaches up and melts into those eyes with eyelashes that have no right in being so long. Hank’s thoughts come to a stuttering halt, but he’s saved from having to say anything at all because it’s at that moment that a few birds buzz past Sumo, causing the large canine to lunge forward and consequentially, drag Connor’s body forward. Laughter bubbles up his throat as he watches the android fumble about for a few heartbeats until he’s matching Sumo’s frantic pace and he half-heartedly decided to jog behind them, lest he be left behind.

They both make dinner that night with the sounds of the television running in the background and they divvy up the dishes to be cleaned as Hank eats and watches Connor clean his half up. His fork brushes past his bottom lip, food just missing his mouth as he’s keener on watching the android flit about the small kitchen space than what’s currently on his plate—some sort of cauliflower fried rice with copious amounts of vegetable and he’s loathe to tell Connor that he’s actually _enjoying_ it—watching the way the artificial muscles move beneath the clothes he’s wearing. Connor’s own mouth on his floats to the front of his mind and he chokes on a mouthful of food and said android turns his head in alarm, one perfect eyebrow arched over his eyes in question.

Hank waves off his concern as he reaches for his glass of water and drinks a few huge gulps down before he can finally clear his throat. Connor merely nods his head, lips quirking up slightly, and the older man can’t help but want to feel the sensation of the android’s lips against his own. They’d been softer than he’d imagined, just like kissing a human if not for the fact that he was fully aware of Connor being an android. And when he’d gotten close enough, he realized there were countless other freckles, so small his old eyes couldn’t pick up on them from the safe distance he’d been trying, and failed, to keep with Connor. The ones nearest the android’s lips were the smallest, and he wanted to see what others were hiding on the synthetic skin.

It was a thought he didn’t shy away from, despite the way he felt his heart beat wildly against his ribcage. And it was something his mind seemed stuck on even as he finished eating and moved to help Connor clean the rest of the kitchen, their hands brushing against one another as they moved around one another, as if they were dancing but neither of them was the other’s partner as it were.

Connor’s hand found its way back to Hank’s just as the older man’s own hand sought out the one from the android, and those damnable eyes stared up at him. They were so wide and open and honest, boring down into Hank’s soul and it normally would’ve made the older man shy away but the candidness shining in Connor’s eyes only filled him with yearning. A yearning so deep it felt like someone was sticking his entire body with needles, injecting the emotion into him and making him _feel_ something other than disgust and pity at his own worthless life. Those eyes made him feel like he was the most important thing in Connor’s markedly small world, like one step over the edge would be the end of them both. It was frightening to have such a weight placed upon you like that and yet, Hank knew the same was true for him as well. He’d dove over the edge to save Connor from making the largest mistake of his life and granted, they were still dealing with the repercussions of the android’s decision but, they were still here. Still willing to fight it out and see another day.

The grip over his hand tightened and the older man let out a soft hum, his thumb running over the android’s knuckles as a sort of afterthought.

“What was it you were thinking of earlier,” he says after a while, his voice deep and thick and he watches the way Connor’s pupils widen ever so slightly at the tone.

“Of you, in this home,” the android says without missing a beat, sounding almost eager and yet shy, what with the way his eyes dart to the floor in a quick motion before finding Hank’s eyes once more.

“You were dressed to go out, and there was this. . .overwhelming sense of happiness at just seeing you like that”, the android finishes and Hank furrows his brow slightly. He gets a fuzzy image of a rainy night and hears the muffled sounds of glass breaking and Sumo growling. Starts to remember the way Connor looked at him when he’d emerged from the bathroom in that blue and white splattered shirt the android had picked out. The way his eyes had softened, the corner of his lip quirking up into a small smile, just as he’d done earlier on their walk.

Hank feels Connor move closer into his personal space, finds that he doesn’t mind because he’s able to make out more of those freckles that someone at Cyberlife thought was a good idea. He turns his body to face the android, hip resting against the edge of the counter where it meets with the sink, his hand never stopping its ministrations while his heart continues to pound against his chest.

“I’m not that much different from him,” the android’s voice dips into a lower register, one that sends a wave of longing throughout Hank’s entire body, “I think we’re more alike than I’d previously believed”.

“This feeling,” he starts again before Hank has the chance to form any coherent thought, “I like it. . .” and then Connor trails off, his eyes darting down to Hank’s lips as he breathes out, “do I need permission to kiss you again?”

The question catches the older man off guard and he lets out a huff because _of course_ Connor would ask something like that instead of following his gut, of course he would ask before doing anything like that. It was who he was, and Hank couldn’t help the rush of amusement that mingled with the bundle of nerves simmering just under the surface.

He doesn’t respond, instead, he tips his head forward and catches those lips in his own. Molds his mouth against those lips he’d once hated hearing words fall from but now, he can’t seem to stop thinking about. Connor tilts his head and slots their mouths perfectly against one another and leans into the kiss, not like how he’d stayed still and stiff before. His mouth actively reaches out and searches for Hank’s lips, soft exhale of breath ghosting across the older man’s face even though he knows the android doesn’t need to.

That same electric spark surges through his body, heightens the push and pull of Connor’s mouth against his and Hank feels his hand move up and cup the back of the android’s head. He cards his fingers through the hair there, feels how the strands are thicker and less pliable than human hair but finds that he doesn’t care. He holds on, doesn’t want to let this moment in time pass him by like the rest of his life had up until this point. Hank holds on like the drowning man he’d been months ago.

And he feels the same wash over emotion take over Connor, feels it in the way the android’s hands come up to fists themselves into the fabric of the shirt he wears and for a few fleeting moments, Hank lets himself take and take. Let’s himself be greedy and lick and nip and Connor’s lower lip, tongue peeking out in a questioning manner, asking for allowance into that cavern in front of him. And Connor obliges him, opens his mouth with a soft sigh and then Hank is tasting all of him. Can taste the way his synthetic saliva mixes with Hank’s own and how it leaves a distinct plastic taste at the back of his throat. But Hank finds that he doesn’t care, finds that he wants to taste more, wants more.

But he pulls back after a few more desperate kisses, pulls back to find Connor staring up at him with blown pupils and lips wet with saliva, the faintest hint of a blue tinge riding up over the bridge of his nose. Hank takes his hand from behind Connor’s head and tucks a stray piece behind the android’s ear, a small smile taking hold of his face.

“I like this feeling too,” he says after a moment of simply staring into Connor’s eyes like some sort of lovestruck teenager—and Lord, has it been literal eons since he’s felt this way—and Hank finds that he means it.

Even if it still scares the shit out of him, he really means it.

“Do you— “, _remember anything else?_ He starts speaking but quickly clamps his mouth shut as soon as the thought flickers across his mind, like a rock skipping against the still waters of a pond.

“I’m, uncertain,” Connor immediately responds, like he’s inside Hank’s mind and reading his thoughts. It doesn’t jar Hank as much as it would’ve months ago, it’s something they’ve only ever discussed privately anyway.

“But I do know,” the android starts up again, his hand reaching up to tentatively press against Hank’s bearded cheek, “that I want _this_ ”.

Again, the older man doesn’t want to put a name to what Connor is talking about, put a name to the emotion he feels swirling inside of his gut and pulling at the strings that keep his heart in one piece. And despite it all, Hank doesn’t want to keep denying this from himself, he doesn’t want to keep walking down the same lonely path he’d forced upon himself, not if Connor is willing to walk beside him through the good and the bad that are out there waiting for them. It’s part of their job, to run head first into danger, to run straight at the one’s dealing harm to those who can’t protect themselves, no matter the cost. And somewhere deep down, Hank feels like he’s willing to put himself out in the line of fire and protect whatever it is he’s creating with Connor.

It’s terrifying and new and brilliantly dazzling, and so long as they have each other, Hank feels like he has the strength to keep on living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So I hope you see that I, would love to love you".
> 
> Next chapter I swear deals more with this case I'm weaving in here (and also some quality Hank and Connor time but, case, yes there's a case there lol).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being Hank and Connor talk about their feelings again with a dash of casework happening, oh lord. . .I hope you all don't mind too much haha
> 
> I'll make it up to you, promise.

“Hank, Connor, my office, now”.

Captain Fowler’s voice is curt and to the point, leaving no room for negotiation and where normally he’s certain some sort of banter would ensue, Connor is surprised when Hank rises from his seat quietly and beckons him to follow. His hands reflexively come up to smooth down the front of his shirt, deft fingers running up to the knot of his tie to straighten it even though he’s fully aware that it’s still in place.

They both stand in the middle of Fowler’s office, Connor standing slightly behind Hank while the older police man stands close enough to the Police Captain’s desk, it’s like he’s going to shake the man’s hand.

“Forensics’ report came back,” Fowler opens up with without exchanging pleasantries and Connor wonders what sort of information the manila folder holds within it that has the Police Captain wound up.

“And?” Hank prompts when the Captain seems reluctant to pass over the manila folder in his hands. The Police Chief lets out an indignant huff, an eyebrow arching up and mouth pursing in contempt, but he eventually hands over the folder to Hank.

“And,” Fowler drawls out, smirking in satisfaction when Hank seems to glower at him for it, “it turns out our friend James here seemed to be quite close to one, Luca Romano”.

Connor takes a few steps forward, body lingering close enough to touch Hank’s back but instead, all he does is peer over the taller man’s shoulder as he opens the manila folder. Placed inside and attached to the top of the file with a paperclip, were two color photos. One was a simple close up of James, his mop of brown hair hanging just above his eyes, but it was definitely him. Beside him, standing out in the open doorway of the Romano’s Italian restaurant was Luca. To the android, it appeared as if they were in deep conversation, perhaps discussing something that the younger Romano brother wasn’t entirely comfortable with judging by the way his eyes were drawn down, facing the streets beneath his feet.

Side by side like this, it would’ve been almost impossible to tell James and Luca apart, their build was incredibly similar, down to even how they stood next to one another. It was slightly jarring, it was something Connor had only ever noticed with androids. How the same model could walk around in different skins, like they were a completely different person. He’d never considered the possibility that the same could be true for a human. James looked so much like Luca it was curious, something that he wouldn’t have believed until this exact moment.

“How did you manage to come across something like this?” Hank’s voice is low, speculative, as he lifts the colored photo in hand and brings it closer to his face to inspect it, as if he questions the legitimacy of the picture.

Fowler lets out a laugh, thought it sounds empty and when Connor looks up he can see that the humor doesn’t register on the Police Chief’s face, it doesn’t even reach his eyes.

“Luca’s family was willing to allow us access to his personal devices, so our guys did a little digging and were able to drag up files from months ago,” Fowler beings as he leans back in his chair, “looks like Luca has been having visits from James for the past two months but this picture was what caught our attention, looks like whatever they’re talking about doesn’t agree with the kid and James is trying to convince him otherwise”.

It certainly looks that way, Connor doesn’t need to take a scan of the photo to know that James’ explanation isn’t going to sway Luca away from the decision the younger man has already made.

“Toxicology report also came up and showed copious amounts of Ketamine were in James’ system at the time of his death”.

Hank lets out a low hum, nodding his head up and down before answering, “Kid probably had one hell of a trip,” he looks up and gives Fowler and inscrutable expression, “can’t have been what did him in though”.

Fowler lets out an annoyed grunt, though it seems to have more to do with their current conversation rather than Hank’s crude statement, “It wasn’t, looks like his heart gave out long before he got smacked against the head”.

Hank’s quiet for a few moments, head nodding slowly still before he speaks again, “So, either the older brother and parents were in on it or, Luca was keeping it under wraps himself,” he mumbles under his breath as he takes the photo of James and Luca and hands it off over his shoulder, not even bothering to see whether Connor is standing behind him or not. He just assumes he’d be there, and he isn’t wrong, the android himself is keen on entering the circle of personal space the older man had kept up until last night, and he’s curious to see how far he can push this new-found intimacy with him.

His fingers quickly brush past Hank’s as he folds his own fingers down further the photograph than is strictly necessary. He takes note of the slight double take Hank’s head makes at that, but otherwise, the older man remains silent, only letting out a small huff of breath. But the android watches the older man shift his weight closer to him out of the corners of his eyes as he plays his part of investigative detective looking over the evidence carefully. Though his eyes move on to the other photograph in the older man’s hands.

It’s an enlarged image of James’ face, outlining the frame of his face and free from any sort of imperfections blowing it up might have caused.

“You said this came from a personal electronic device, correct Captain?” Connor asks as he slips Hank back the other photo, turning his eyes onto Fowler. The older man nods his head, leans forward in his chair and props up both elbows onto his desk and regards the android openly.

“Indeed, though it appears the source of the original photo was taken from the street cameras rather than the restaurants video footage”, there’s a slight upturn to his lips as he rests his chin onto his folded hands eyes narrowing for a fraction of a minute before he continues to speak.

“That other RK unit you took with you was the one who gathered up those missing pieces”, Fowler’s voice is even and calm, as if he’s discussing something as trivial as a traffic violation. It belies his true motivation behind the statement and Connor is quick to pick up on it. The Police Chief wants to gauge his reaction in response to having another RK unit on the force, actively helping other members in his unit.

It’s a test to see how the android responds to an upgraded version of himself, seeing whether or not he’s willing to allow credit where credit is due or turn his nose up at it in distaste. Though to be entirely honest, Connor hadn’t the slightest clue that Fowler had allowed RK900 to review any bit of the evidence they had gathered so far. Although, he supposed since he’d invited the other android to tag along with them, he was allowed to at least gloss over the information. It was just a bit, distressing to know RK900 had been so quick to find a few strands of information to help guide them further down investigation. He pondered if this feeling was what always had Detective Reed on edge around him, regardless of the fact that Connor had tried to show him that he wasn’t in anyway there to take Reed’s job from him.

“It’s good to have a fresh set of eyes when investigating something particularly puzzling,” he finally decides to say. It was harmless enough of a statement and surely, one Captain Fowler would prefer to hear rather than Connor’s own doubts and uncertainties regarding his improved upon model.

“That it is,” Fowler says as he unfurls himself from his place at his desk and leans back in his chair once more, “I want you to interrogate the parents and brother again, bring up what you’ve found but if it looks like one of them is in on it, don’t push,” the Police Captain stretches his neck back and forth before a loud pop fills the silence between his words.

“I don’t want them packing up and leavin’ town”. His words are spoken in a tone of finality, leaving no room for arguing, and the only other sound that accompanies the Police Chief’s words are a soft _thwomp_ that comes from Hank as the man closes the manila folder.

“We still have Schmidt to deal with, if things don’t go our way, I’m going to do some digging on him and figure out a time and place to catch him and, have a little chat”. Hank’s mouth curls into a satisfied grin and Fowler simply nods his head and waves his hand at the two of them dismissively, they both leave without another word.

The two head back to their desks, Hank plopping himself back down into his seat with a grunt and tossing the manila folder into the shared section where their desks met as Connor made his way around to his own seat.

“I really don’t want to think about Luca’s parents or brother being in on this,” the older man says as he taps a few keys on his keyboard, the screen illuminating and flickering back to life, “his mom just seemed wrecked beyond belief the day it happened”.

Connor hums at this, pulling up Wyatt Schmidt’s file as he considers Hank’s words. In their line of work, it wasn’t uncommon to see those who you thought were entirely innocent, have some hidden connection to the crime committed. Whether that was being there at the scene of a crime and not coming forth to report it, or actively engaging in breaking the law. Either scenario proved a guiltless person, or persons, to all at once be considered guilty. Everyday there was the potential for perfectly decent folk to lie in the faces of the Detroit Police Force, no sane human would willingly offer themselves up if on the other end it meant they could keep their freedom.

“Such is the nature of our work, Lieutenant,” Connor began quietly as Schmidt’s face filled his screen, “humans have the innate ability to craft increasingly intricate lies, it’s not something any android could do successfully”.

“That so,” Hank drawls, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through the silver hairs adorning his chin. The sound is rough, and it catches Connor’s interest, so he turns his head to catch the older police man fixing him with a pensive stare. His head is tilted up at an angle, directing his line of sight down, as if he’s running a scenario through his mind and contemplating the images he’s seeing before giving a verbal response. Those eyebrows fall down over eyes as blue and as clear as the sun casting light over the ocean, they’re alluring, and Connor is struck with the temptation to run his own fingers through the strands of hair on Hank’s chin.

They’ve not really discussed the nature of their. . .relationship? Partnership? Connor doesn’t exactly know _what_ to call it, doesn’t know where it fits into the grand scheme of things or where to file it away in his own headspace. It simply floats throughout his thoughts, more so than in the past five, soon to be six, months and while it isn’t necessarily distracting, the idea of publicly displaying his appreciation for the older man is _highly_ tempting. Though Connor could already see the outcome of said temptation, the probability of Hank taking such affection while in a workplace setting was dismally low and would only serve to put strain on the fragile. . . connection they’d created.

“And you can?” Hank asks after a moment longer, “Lie, I mean, you practically did just that when you said you didn’t know how to laugh”. The older man quirks an eyebrow at him, lips turning up into a smirk, “But you _did_ give yourself away”, he says as he turns his eyes back down to the manila folder and opens it up, rifling through the information within.

Connor blinks a couple of times, shifts in his seat a few times as well because he’s not sure he’s ever heard such a teasing tone come from Hank before. It’s free from the gravelly nature he usually addresses him with, light and airy though the way he physically conducts himself is in line with the way he normally presents himself in the bullpen. Though, his lips remain curled and he appears entirely too pleased with himself, like he’s in on the biggest joke of the century and he’s explained it to Connor who’s still not following.

“’Suppose we’ll need to drop by the Romano’s restaurant,” Hank begins again, eyes focusing back on the work he’s laid out before him.

“Yes,” Connor starts, still taken aback by Hank’s teasing manner, “I’ll try and find further associations Schmidt has created and see if we can extract further information”.

Connor could almost feel the way the tension settled onto his shoulder when he watched the way Hank hunched his own, face becoming serious and hard as he set to work. Hopefully, they’d be able to find out where Schmidt was hiding and get him out into the open, so they could stop another murder from happening.

The android makes quick work of scanning through probable areas they might find Schmidt in. A local bar off in the older parts of Detroit that still cling to the past, shun the rise of androids as people and very much in line with how he’d behaved in front of them the day they’d gone to have lunch at the Romano’s restaurant. There’s also an old run-down lumber mill that’s been noted in his file at least half a dozen times, seems to be his favorite haunt to go and handle, “business” as the file politely puts it. There’s also Jimmy’s Bar that’s specifically named, a place very much adamant and open about their “No Android” policy, but last Connor had heard, the bar owner had closed his doors, refusing to do business in a city where machines were free to walk around. He supposes that’s all right, he doesn’t think he’d have much luck searching for any answers in such an establishment anyway, just the few sentences describing the atmosphere were enough to paint the vivid image of anti-android slogans written across a dingy wall. Either way, it wouldn’t prove useful and only left two other options which Connor figured was better than being left with nothing at all.

Both of them work up until lunch and Connor’s only aware of the approaching lunch hour because he can hear the faint rumbling of Hank’s stomach. The noise isn’t audible to the other’s walking around, it’s drowned out by the sounds the keyboards make, the incoming calls of complaints, and the various voices of other people come in to speak directly to the police personnel. But to Connor, the sound is very clear, and he casts a quick glance to his internal clock and takes note of the time.

He hears the creak of the man’s chair as he stretches back in and lets out a long sigh of breath, small _popping_ noises coming from his wrists as he slowly rises from his seat.

“Great as time as any, wouldn’t you say?” Connor considers the question to be rhetorical but nods his head in agreement regardless as he too, pushes away from his desk to follow the older police man out of the building and to his car.

The Romano’s restaurant isn’t as busy as it once was, not while Mrs. Romano was still heavily grieving the loss of her youngest child. Connor’s able to pick up snippets of snide comments and rude remarks from those walking on the sidewalk beside them as they enter into the building. The bell above the door chimes merrily enough despite what’s transpired on the premises and he and Hank are the only other people aside from Mr. and Mrs. Romano and Gabriele who’s sulkily mopping the floors. He turns his head slowly when the chime of the bells fades away, putting the mop back into the bucket as if it weighs too much for him despite being an android and having the ability to carry anything no matter the bulk.

A faint spark of curiosity lights up in those hazel eyes, the android straightens out his back and blinks a few times before he remembers his manners. He wipes his hands onto the front of his jeans, running a hand through his neatly trimmed hair before he finally addresses the two of them.

“Lieutenant Anderson, Connor,” he begins, and both his parents lift their heads up to give them an almost listless stare. They’ve seemed to age years and years, the grief etched plainly and openly on their faces and Connor’s suddenly struck with a vivid image of a little boy with bright blue eyes followed by Hank glowering at him but moving past him as if he doesn’t exist. It sends an unpleasant shiver down the android’s spine, but he doesn’t have the time to further investigate what it is that he’s just seen because Hank’s moved past him and is standing up near the front of the restaurant.

“Afternoon,” Hank cordially begins, tipping his head to Mr. and Mrs. Romano respectively but as Connor comes to stand next to the taller man, his sensors pick up on the sudden increase in the man’s heartrate, watches as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other in a clear sign of unease. He’s only ever seen that exact emotion projected onto himself—though Connor can’t blame the man—so it’s interesting to see Hank behave so cautiously around others.

“My partner and I have come to do some, follow up questions into the ongoing investigation surrounding your son,” Hank looks up and watches as Gabriele walks into his line of sight to stand next to his mother, placing a hand onto her shoulder and pulling her snuggly against him.

“Perhaps we could step somewhere more, private,” Connor brings up, eyes lingering on the other android. There’s no LED indicator to assess the effect their presence is having on Gabriele, but Connor doesn’t need it to really gain any insightful information. The way he holds his mother firmly against his side, shielding her and providing wordless comfort is all he needs. The android isn’t particularly thrilled about their reappearance, but from the way his mouth goes back and forth between a thin line and being relaxed, makes Connor wonder if he’s trying to calculate the likelihood of this visit bringing any good news. It’s only natural, the other android had been taken in a fostered by the Romano’s, so it made logical sense to want to protect those who raised you from harm.

Mrs. Romano hums quietly, nodding her head and patting the hand Gabriele has laid onto her shoulder. He turns his attention down to his mother and gives a comforting smile, letting go and allowing her to move past him.

“Watch the front for a bit, all right son?” Mr. Romano instructs his eldest who nods his head and moves to straighten out the counter near the register. It’s littered with cards and scraps of paper, some pamphlets by the looks of it while others look like cards sent to them by a few regular patrons. Gabriele catches him looking and he hastily runs a hand over the counterspace and tucks the papers out of sight underneath an open space that exists below the register. There’s a brief flicker of annoyance before the hazel eyed individual sets out to straighten up the inside of the pastry counter.

Mr. Romano’s voice drifting away causes Connor to turn his head towards the sound of footsteps walking towards the back and he moves to follow the rest into a tucked away corner of the restaurant. Mr. Romano leads them all down a short hallway and through an open door, ushering in Hank and Connor who are followed closely by Mrs. Romano.

The room is a small, windowless office with a wall behind the desk plastered in food review clippings from newspapers over the years. Pictures of elated customers and events with equally happy people staring back at him. The blue carpeted floor muffles the sound of the chair Hank pulls back for Mrs. Romano to sit in while her husband moves to drag the desk chair out, so he can sit parallel with the large oak desk. There’s an extra chair and Connor steps to the side, offering it up to Hank who takes a seat without so much as asking. He folds his arms behind his back before letting them fall loosely by his side, the previous movement reminiscent of RK900 and it sends his own wave of disquiet through his body.

“We won’t take up much of your time,” Hank starts, voice thick with hesitation as he cleared his throat before continuing on, “so we’ll be quick”.

“Yes, of course,” it’s Mrs. Romano who speaks up, her voice watery and thin, like she’d been crying just a few moments before they’d stepped foot into the establishment and Connor can’t help the tinge of guilt that insists on joining in. He’s honestly surprised humans don’t lash out more frequently due to their emotions wreaking havoc. Ever since that first bright burst of his previous life had fallen back to him, he’d been steadily feeling more and more. Was becoming intensely aware of how his own budding emotions could very well cloud and paint his line of thinking into something entirely inaccurate. It’s not just his social module going into overdrive either, no, he’d checked into the other night, when he and Hank had retired to bed after their visit over at Markus’ home. Everything was in order, as much as it could be, so the only logical thing to conclude was that Connor himself was steadily becoming more _human_ and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that new revelation himself. The person he’d used to be had had that same conflicting sense of self that he was having now, it was in the undercurrent of every memory he’d been given back, something just below the surface but if he looked too closely at it, he’d only ever overload his systems.

“Right,” Hank begins again, his voice wavering a bit. He presses a hand against his chest, then slips under the coat he’s put on, head titled down and voice a bit muffled as he pulls out the image of James and Luca talking with one another.

“Video surveillance footage has surfaced,” he says as he hands over the picture to a befuddled looking Mr. Romano, “it appears the guy in the photo has caught the interest of my superiors, we want to know if he’s someone you recognize”.

Connor watches the way both of the Romano’s eyes cloud over in genuine confusion, the way Mrs. Romano in particular seems to be shocked by what she’s being shown. Her husband is skilled in hiding away his obvious discomfort in having something unknown brought to his attention, particularly about one of his own children. It was good, though not necessarily for the progression of their case and at his lack of physical movement beside him, Hank turned to cast his own curious expression onto Connor. He met those sky-blue eyes with his own Earthy rich brown, gave a slight shake of his head. Neither of the Romano’s noticed and the android preferred it that way.

“I’m—I’m afraid I don’t,” Mrs. Romano began, turning her wide brown eyes onto her husband, “do you Dear?”

Mr. Romano gave out a small grunt, furrowing his brow even more but finally shook his head, “No, ‘fraid not”. He gives the photo another once over before he hands it back to Hank who tucks it back away into the hidden pocket of his coat.

“I don’t know why Luca wouldn’t have mentioned he had a friend,” Mrs. Romano begins, almost as if she’s speaking to herself with the way her eyes stare off into a space to Connor’s left, “he was always so, open with us”.

She turns to her husband then, eyebrows coming down over her face, the uncertainty plain as day, “Wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” her husband began softly, offering her an assuring smile, “but we were always so. . .busy, with keeping everything up and running, and Luca could practically take care of himself—”.

Connor saw it coming the moment Mr. Romano did, saw it in the way Mrs. Romano’s hands curled tightly and her shoulders rose up. Her eyes flashed dangerously and the sound that managed to escape past her lips was a combination of an irate sigh and broken sob.

“He _needed_ us, he was always going to _need_ us,” Mrs. Romano speaks through a clenched jaw, opening and closing it a few times as if she wants to say more but Connor can see the way her bottom lip is quivering and by the way Mr. Romano has ducked his head away from his wife, he’s figured that he doesn’t want to go down this road again.

“We’re deeply sorry for your loss,” Hank cuts in, the tension abruptly stilling, and two sets of eyes find their way to the older police man who shifts in his seat, “my partner and I just need a few minutes with Gabriele, and then we’ll be out of your hair”.

Mrs. Romano blinks owlishly at Hank for a few moments, confusion lifting away to be replaced with an intense look of shame and she turns her eyes back down at the ground, “Gabriele,” she whispers the name tenderly, her small frame shaking for a few moments before she brings up a hand to her face, covering her mouth.

“Yes, my son, he’ll help you gentlemen,” she doesn’t make eye contact with either of them afterwards, simply keeps her gaze directed downwards, while her husband leads her out of the office and calls out to Gabriele.

The taller android’s footsteps are hurried at the sound of his father’s voice, his eyes set firmly onto his father’s face as he instructs him to provide he and Hank with anything else he can.

“Of course,” he begins quickly as Mr. Romano leads his wife away, “anything to help find out what happened to by brother”. He enters into the room and Hank offers him the chair his mother sat in, but Gabriele politely refuses.

“Well then,” Hank starts as he brings out the photo once more, “we’re wondering if you’ve seen this man talking to your brother before,” he hands over the photo and Gabriele takes it firmly, his eyes still fixed on the two of them.

“Certainly, I’ll try and do my best,” his eyes fall onto the image of his brother and Connor instantly notices the way his forehead wrinkles, his mouth thinning out, fingers curling around the picture and a stress level indicator pops up on Connor’s display.

**LEVEL OF STRESS: 48%**

The thin red line above the percentage steadily rises and falls on the indicator line, it’s not much to go really go off, he and Hank are questioning him about the possible murder of his brother, there’s bound to be some residual stress associated with them. No, what they need to do is work their way further into Gabriele’s mind and extract the information through carefully worded questions.

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“No, never, why?” comes the quick response, those eyes never rising up to look Hank in the eyes as he asked his question. The red line climbs a few inches but fall back down to the same percentage. The response was fast, though the tone of his voice was coated in neutrality, as if he _truly_ had no idea who his brother was talking to.

“We’ve reason to believe this man could have led to your brother’s murder”, Connor supplies simply, eyes trained on Gabriele’s face to see what further reaction his words will have on him. The other android doesn’t respond, merely hums and nods his head in acknowledgement.

“You and Luca often worked the same hours though,” Hank drawls, going back to his previous question as he leans forward onto his forearms. Connor knows the older police man finds it equally as strange at the quick way Gabriele responded, now all they needed to do was tread lightly.

“You mean to tell me that you never saw Luca standing in the doorway for an extended period of time?” There’s incredulity dancing over the words Hank speaks, but it isn’t accusatory, it’s merely probing, trying to separate truth from fiction. Hank didn’t just become the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit because he simply took everything at face value all the time, his hard work and persistence was what paid off in the end and allowed him to climb the ladder.

“What?”, and then, “well not exactly no, I mean—”, Gabriele moves to take a seat in one of the chairs, mouth turned down into a frown as his eyes dart back and forth between himself and Hank.

“There was the occasional delivery man but, he’d always direct them to come through the back entrance,” bewilderment colors Gabriele’s words but his stress level rises a few percentages, though, it’s still not enough to get what they need.

“You two were close though,” Hank says thoughtfully, tilting his head off to one side, “I don’t think there’s a single instance where I didn’t see you guys attached at the hip”.

That causes a huge spike in Gabriele’s stress level and it’s written plain on his face in the way his eyes widen and his nostrils flare slightly, the synthetic flesh around his mouth pulled taut as he grinds his teeth.

“Please,” Connor pipes up, taking a small step forward and Gabriele directs his intense gaze at him, eyes shining brightly with barely contained tears, “we’re just here to help, but we can only do that if you help us”.

Gabriele stubbornly tears his eyes away from Connor, no longer trying to keep himself together, he lets out a broken sigh and runs his free hand through his hair. He grasps a few strands and tugs on them a couple times, sharp inhales of breath finding their way past his lips, “I didn’t think it was anything wrong,” he begins in a shaky voice, “I never thought—we were also together—I should’ve. . .”

He lets out a choked sob, body curling in on himself and his stress level reaches a breaking point, they need to calm him back down into safer territory before they unintentionally push the poor grieving android off the edge and cause more pain.

“It’s okay,” Connor begins sympathetically, “I know you’re scared,” he takes a few steps towards the curled-up android, “we’re just here to help”. Gabriele whirls his head in his direction, his body wound tight like an animal who was ready to fight if it needed to. Connor stops his movements, his eyes trained on Gabriele despite that blaring warning that is the stress level indicator that’s taking up a majority of his vision.

_“Help?”_ , Gabriele lets out a bark of laughter but it’s hollow, teetering on the edge of panic but Connor stood his ground. He’d been built for this specific purpose, to help the androids from falling off and doing something they’d regret. Out of everything that he’d been exposed to so far in his short activation, it was this. He held out his hinds in front of him, making sure to face his palms outward and shuffles his feet the barest of inches forward. Gabriele flinches, body jerking upwards like he wants to bolt from the office, but the pleading look in his eyes says otherwise.

“What good am I?” the other android goes on to say, hissing out the words, “I couldn’t even protect my _own brother_ ”. He works his jaw, opens and closes it, his hands forms fists on and off again, but his eyes remain locked onto Connor’s own, it’s not much but he hasn’t budged yet. . . so there’s that.

“There’s plenty of good in you, and you can still help your brother,” Connor says as he shimmies closer, “trust us, trust _me_ ”. He lets the word fall past his lips like a soft summer breeze rustling the leaves on trees, and he can’t help the odd image of rotary blades that accompanies the words.

Gabriele considers him for a few moments, his stress levels still incredibly high but when the other android breaks eye contact with him, the red line steadily falls back into safer territory.

And finally, after another few terse moments, he nodded his head.

“I was also so, _protective_ of Luca,” Gabriele begins, keeping his eyes down and away from both his and Hank’s gaze, “I was only throwing out the trash and when I came back, I just felt like something was off about him but when I asked he just. . .brushed it off. . .”

Gabriele let out an annoyed sigh before he continued, “My little brother. . .he, he took up photography after we. . .Deviated, told me he wanted to capture the world around him now that he could really appreciate it. . .”, a pause as the other android furrowed his brows and Connor waited for him to speak again.

“He was going through some photos and then,” a sharp intake of breath, his body curling in on himself again, but Gabriele stubbornly shook his head and surged forward, “he came across this exact photo”. His hands gripped the photo Hank had given him harshly, the material making a loud _crinkling_ noise in his strong grip, but it didn’t annoy Connor, they’d easily be able to get another one.

“I started asking questions you know?” Gabriele starts again and there’s that hint of panic and frustration again, “But Luca he—he. . .he said not to make a big deal out of it, started rambling on and on about how I couldn’t tell our parents and how he was only trying to help”. He turns his head towards Connor at that, hurt mingling with the confusion in those hazel eyes, “I didn’t think anything of it, and so I just. . .left it alone. . .” The other android leans heavily against the chair he’s sat in, staring up at the ceiling now, his stress levels plummeting down further until the image fades away from Connor’s vision completely.

“Thank you, Gabriele,” he starts quietly, straightening himself out, “the information you’ve provided us is invaluable”. He tries offering a reassuring smile, like one he’s seen Hank give him before, but it feels awkward and thankfully, the other android doesn’t bother turning his eyes to stare at Connor’s ultimate failure in providing comfort. He does however, hear Hank snicker under his breath and both he and Gabriele turn to look at him.

“I didn’t mean to keep this from either of you,” the android hastily begins as he wipes his hands on the front of his jeans, “I honestly didn’t think it’d make a difference, I sincerely apologize”. He tips his head forward, to each of them, and Hank waves a hand at him.

“It’s fine,” he begins as he gets up from his seat, “the important thing here is that you’ve done the right thing by telling us,” he stands in front of the other android who limply rises from his seat. The two exchange a look with one another before Hank presses a hand onto Gabriele’s upper arm.

“Does it ever get easier, Hank?” Gabriele asks solemnly, eyes shining again with unshed tears, shoulders shaking as he tries to keep himself together.

Connor doesn’t miss the way the older man’s own body seems to shake, the way his shoulders and neck tense, but in the same moment he’s noticed it all but disappears.

“Easier? No, but it does get better”. Hank brings in Gabriele for a brief hug, the android loosely reciprocating before all three leave the small office.

Mrs. Romano and her husband are sitting in a booth closest to the short hallway and she appears more coherent, apologizing to the both of them for not being able to provide any more information. Hank takes her hand and gives a tight squeeze, telling her that it’s not any fault of hers or her husband. She offers to provide them lunch to take back, but the older police man politely refuses, telling them he can grab something from the DPD vending machines. Connor shoots him an unimpressed look, but he turns towards the doors and so the look goes unnoticed. He wonders about what he meant when he told Gabriele that it gets better, it sounded as if he was speaking from past experiences and Connor decided to file it away. Perhaps he could ask about it later this evening when they were home.

-.-

“So, turns out they _really_ didn’t know anything more”, the words are muttered around another handful of pretzels—his _third_ bag because Connor’s been keeping track of Hank’s salt intake and it’s only going to get higher when he opens that fourth bag he’s unsuccessfully trying to keep out of his line of sight—Hank decidedly wiping his hand down the front of his shirt as he shifts his gaze from his work to look over at him.

The older man’s blue eyes are as hard as ice, sharp enough to cut through about anything Connor could have offered to say to him just then. But deep down, Connor feels the words running through his mind, feels himself grasping onto a few words and forming them into proper sentences he can use to convey his meaning.

“That’s not strictly true, Lieutenant,” he begins, turning his chair in the direction of the older man and leaning forward across the small space that keeps their desks apart, “we’ve learned that James Alexander and Luca Romano were, in some capacity, familiar with one another, though the rest of the Romano’s weren’t privy to the true nature of this friendship”.

Hank raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed as he stuffs a couple more pretzels into his mouth, “Yeah sure,” he dryly begins, “but that still doesn’t lead us any closer to figuring out why Luca hacked into the security camera and deleted this photo or even _if_ Schmidt has anything to do with this”. He lets out a huff of breath as he takes out the last few pretzels from the bag and crumples up the plastic before tossing it aside, the crumbs tumble out and scatter across his desk and Connor watches as the older man carelessly brushes the stranglers onto the floor.

“Or,” Hank begins loudly, tongue clicking in his mouth and it distracts Connor into looking directly at him, missing the swift motion of the man’s hands and fingers as he tears open his last bag of salty treats, “what the fuck James was even talking to Luca about,” an annoyed huff of breath before he closes his mouth around a couple of fresh pretzels and Connor narrows his eyes at him.

“We could have stayed longer to attain that particular bit of information, Lieutenant,” Connor stiffly counters, “we need everything we can possibly get if we want to be able to apprehend the murderer,” a beat and then, “you should also consider limiting your salt intake for the rest of the day”.

Hank’s teeth close around one pretzel particularly loudly, and that eyebrow is still perfectly arched over those blue eyes, though they don’t look like they’re going to tear apart Connor. There’s a brief flicker of amusement, of all things, that fly across Hank’s face and the android is _shocked_ when the older man takes a look at the bag and hums under his breath and throws it away into the trash can he keeps there.

“Yeah well,” Hank mutters under his breath as his jaw works the last of the pretzels in his mouth, “this one sorta hits close to home and I just. . .couldn’t break into them like that”. He turns his eyes back up in his direction just as a wave of confusion washes over Connor and he tilts his head to the side, the words bubbling up to the surface despite the way the confusion jerks and twists into something like guilt.

“Why not?”

His mouth immediately clamps shut as soon as the words leave his mouth and his hands form fists as he shifts in his seat. The look of amusement drains from Hank’s face, bewilderment and anger filling his eyes and spilling over onto his face. Connor’s eyes watch the way the man’s lips curl up, teeth peeking out to grab hold of his upper lip. The sharp intake of breath that he holds and doesn’t let go of for what feels like minutes instead of mere seconds. Hank narrows his eyes at him until they’re just icy slits, rolls his shoulders back and cranes his neck back and forth until there’s an audible _pop_ from the release of the gases trapped there.

It’s there in an instant, blink and you’ll miss it. Hank is visibly upset with him, Connor can see it in the way the other man’s jaw flexes, the hair covering his chin quivering as he does so. But as soon as he takes note of it, the emotion vanishes, like someone’s taken a fire extinguisher and put out the flames that threatened to destroy everything in its path. Hesitancy replaces the anger there; then gradually reluctant acceptance and that twinge of guilt becomes stronger inside of him and Connor shifts in his chair once more.

“Hank I—”

“Forget it Connor,” Hank quickly answers before giving the android the chance to speak further and the words die on his synthetic tongue. Those blue eyes lock onto his and there’s something in them that he can’t quite define and while that guilt is still swirling inside of him, there’s something else that lights him up from the inside out and he clears his throat and nods his head.

“In any case,” he starts after a few hesitant moments of silence stretch between them, “we have another option”. Connor takes his hands and brushes them down the front of his shirt, fingers catching on the buttons before he wheels himself closer to the divide between their desks. He holds out his hand, palm facing up as he brings up a picture of the bar noted in Schmidt’s file.

Hank eyes him up and down a few times before moving to rest both his arms onto his desk, crossing them over top each other before staring down at what he’s being showed.

“The Red Lion has been frequented by Schmidt in the past,” he resumes once Hank has situated himself, “we can go and survey the comings and goings of its current patrons, figure out if Schmidt still frequents it and then slip in and gain further information as it relates to this case”.

“We’ll have to bring it to Captain Fowler’s attention first but,” Connor retracts his hand and places it back onto his lap, “I think it’s our best bet to move forward”.

Hank doesn’t say anything, and he’s still leaned across that empty space between them, his head nodding up and down so minutely that Connor considers he’s still peeved at him and is only putting up a show of listening to him. But it’s an unnecessary worry because as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Hank’s nodding his head enthusiastically, the hard edge in his stare dissipating.

“Sounds like a plan”.

-.-

It’s supposed to be a quick little thing. Go home, change, drive to the other side of town and sit on the Red Lion until they get what they want. It’s a simple plan, and one Captain Fowler fully endorses since their previous endeavor had yielded little results. So, the two left the office early and headed back home, greeted by Sumo who shot up from his dog bed barking in surprise at hearing the lock on Hank’s door slide open.

“Heya boy!” Hank calls out cheerily, stuffing his keys into his jacket pocket before shucking it off in the next motion and bending down partially to grab at the Saint Bernard’s face. Sumo happily soaks up the unexpected attention, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and pressing his entire body into the older man’s shins.

“All right, all right”, he sounds annoyed but the smile that creeps across his face means he’s anything but, “I’ll take you out back”. He turns back to the couch where he’s thrown his jacket, fishing in the other pocket for his lighter and pack of cigarettes in a hurried fashion as if Connor doesn’t already know that that’s where he keeps his vice.

Connor’s already moved past him and is busying himself in the kitchen. He’s making something for Hank to eat, something substantial that would last him up until the very last moment of their stakeout for that night. Nothing overly complex, just a turkey club—and at least it’ll use up the last bit of the meat anyway, Connor suspected that another few days and he’d have to throw it out—which was quick and easy and relatively healthy. Connor still felt oddly put out by Hank, even though the older man seemed far from upset at him anymore, and so the android felt the odd need to somehow placate him regardless.

Sumo’s by the back door, wagging his tail furiously and Hank comes up behind him to press a hand onto his shoulder.

“Hey uh, that’s a bit much don’t you think?”

Connor’s not entirely sure what the older man is talking about, all he can feel is the biting heat the other man’s hand creates as it travels down his shoulder. The weight of it is comforting as it is slightly stifling, mixing in with that guilt from earlier and Connor has to resist the strong urge to roll his shoulder and free himself from that strong grip.

He blinks and stares down at the counter. In front of him his left hand is holding a slice of bread, the other holding out a bottle of mustard, and in the middle is an abhorrent amount of said condiment. Connor blinks again, he doesn’t remember getting anything out, they’ve only just gotten back home, and he’d just gotten into the kitchen.

What the hell?

“O-oh”, it’s quiet with a twinge of something uncomfortable and it makes Connor feel incredibly stupid.

Behind him, he hears Hank chuckle, and then he feels the man’s hand slide from his shoulder and into his line of sight to grab the knife Connor also managed to procure. His eyes follow the movements Hank makes, watches as the man scrapes off the pile of mustard with the knife and brings it to his mouth. That pink tongue dashes out of his mouth to lick off the condiment in one decisive motion, the very tip of that muscle dotting a small amount of yellow onto the older man’s upper lip. Then there’s a resounding pop and satisfied hum that rumbles up from the man’s chest and out of his parted mouth, and Connor can’t tear his eyes away from Hank’s mouth as his tongue peeks back out to swipe at the bit of mustard that had almost escaped him.

The android doesn’t try to keep the heat he feels from rising up his body, doesn’t stop it once he feels it creep past the tips of his fingers and heads straight for his throat. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from Hank’s mouth as the man sets the knife back down in front of him, and he’s surprised at the cold rush he feels when Hank finally makes eye contact with him and freezes.

It’s like they’re acting the kiss between them hadn’t happened, dancing around the subject of: will they, won’t they? But they’ve clearly already stepped past that initial threshold, they’ve laid in bed together the same night they’d kissed, nothing seemingly amiss, but there’s something about Hank that seems more reserved. Closed off and unwilling, shy in a way but also wanting. Connor can see it in those blue eyes the man possesses, and the android is struck by how blue they suddenly appear to be. It’s like they took one step forward and two steps back and it’s left Connor feeling whiplashed and slightly neglected.

He makes a move to grab Hank’s hand, but the older man pulls away as soon as the need to touch him arises. Those large fingers close around a cigarette that he’s pulled from the pack and tucks between the lips Connor has the aching need to feel against his own.

“I’ll—uh, be outside”, Hank offers, his voice impeccably pitched low and he clears his throat before stepping around Connor and moving to let Sumo and himself outside.

The android finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the older man as he walks out of sight, and it’s a few moments longer before Connor finishes the sandwich and wraps it up neatly before placing it in the fridge until later. His grip lingers on the handle of the kitchen equipment, gaze flickering back and forth as his ears pick up the sound of Sumo’s heavy footfalls outside. He feels his limbs moving before his mind registers it, feels the cool afternoon air hit him in the face before he’s hit with the scent of nicotine.

Sumo barks at his arrival and Hank himself turns around to stare up at the android, he’s sat himself down onto the concrete slab with a tennis ball laid out in his palm. The large canine whimpers and barks again, nudging Hank’s hand before the older man breaks eye contact and throws the ball out into the small backyard.

Connor’s all at once lost, he doesn’t know why he’s stepped outside exactly. He doesn’t need to breathe in the air around him to ground his rapidly firing thoughts or _need_ to feel skin on skin contact with the man whose kissed him twice. But he _does_ have the inexplicable urge to reach out and take Hank by the hand and press his mouth against his, to feel the way the hairs of his beard scratch his chin and make him think one singular thought over and over again.

_Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive._

Days ago, the android had decided he’d wanted to pursue something intimate with Hank Anderson. And he still _wants_ to, more than anything he _wants_ to wrap himself up in that safe warmth that the other man radiates. Gives Connor that feeling of belonging despite Hank never saying a word about it. The feeling hits him so hard that he momentarily forgets where he is and stumbles forward, only coming back to his senses at the weight of a firm hand pressing against his chest.

Brown meets blue, and a puff of cigarette smoke clouds his vision temporarily as Hank lets out a lengthy sigh. And then those eyes draw away from him and back out at Sumo, Connor following the man’s gaze as the dog plops down onto the grass and chews at a comically small twig.

Hank sits back down only this time, he doesn’t sit directly in the middle, he sits off to one side and looks up at Connor questioningly before turning back to blow another large cloud of smoke into the air. He’s hesitant, something the android hasn’t ever experienced up until now, but he takes the older man up on his silent offer and moves to sit down next to him. He tries placing his hands flat against his lap, like he does when he’s riding in Hank’s car, but it suddenly feels too stiff and awkward, so he takes a quick peek at how the other man in nonchalantly leaning back against one hand, and Connor presses the palms of his hands against the concrete slab and mimics Hank’s posture.

They sit like that for a few moments, the sounds of birds singing to one another and the sound of cars driving by joining in on the odd symphony of sound coming from the deep drags Hank takes of his cigarette and the sharp snaps of Sumo breaking his twig.

“Hank, I’m sorry about—”

“It’s fine, Connor—”

“But I _am_ ”, the android insists, and he pushes himself up from his palms, feeling the bits of loose rock falling out from the indents they’ve left in the synthetic flesh as he curls his fingers into fists. His eyes don’t search for Hank’s, instead they shy away and stare at the cigarette that hangs loosely between his teeth, the end of his burning softly as the trail of smoke continues to rise lazily. A deep breath in from Hank and Connor keeps his eyes staring at the butt of the cigarette as it glows a bright red before slowly coming back to that faded burning glow.

“And I said it was _fine_ ,” Hank says exasperatedly, his tone sounding clipped from between the cigarette and he lets out the smoke from his mouth in a quick burst before flicking his cigarette towards the ground in front of them.

“I just. . .got some shit I need to deal with. . .” he says once more, the sharp edge to his tone gone and now it sounds like he’s tired more than anything.

“I didn’t think—I didn’t mean. . .”, a pause as he brings the cigarette up to his lips to take a quick drag, holding it in and gesturing his hand in a vague motion before releasing the breath, “I’m not who you think I am”.

That gets a small chuckle out of Connor, the android turning his head away just as Hank turns to face him.

“That sounds more along the lines of what I would tell you,” he says as he places his hands into his lap and plays with the digits of his left, “maybe I did”. Connor draws his brows down over his face, the sense of guilt creeping back up the length of his body and he digs his nails into the flesh of his forefinger.

“Why not”, Hank says after a long pause and Connor looks up at him in confusion.

“What?”

“You asked me, ‘why not’, earlier,” Hank starts again, snubbing out the rest of his cigarette before folding his arms in his lap, “about, how I couldn’t keep asking the Romano’s questions about their son”.

“Well I, lost _my_ own son, and uh,” he rocks back and forth for a few seconds, turning his face away from Connor until he slowly turns back to stare him straight in the eyes, “I know what it’s like to have question after question thrown at you, I’m a fucking cop after all, so. . .I just couldn’t do that to them”.

“Yeah, would’ve helped the case, I know, but. . . it’s hard, still hard”. The jut of his jaw sticks out, his eyes clouding over momentarily as Connor watches him fight against the pull of the past and he can see the face of a young boy much more clearly now. The faint tilt of his head and sweet smile that’s reflected in eyes as blue as the one who passed them down to him, hair just as brown as his father’s too. He can hear the faint pattering of rain falling and then everything else is drowned out by that familiar warmth taking hold and squeezing his mechanical heart. He’d been able to vividly see the memory when he’d interfaced with Markus, but he hadn’t been able to relive the entirety of it.

“Cole. . .”, he breathes out quietly and Hank’s eyes harden for a fraction of a second until he lets out a breath of his own and nods his head.

“I’m just some. . .broken old man, Connor. . .what you see is, what you’re gonna get”.

“You’re only as broken as you make yourself believe,” the android quickly cuts in, “and. . . I’m damaged in my own way as well, my memories are. . . kept from me”. He tentatively reaches out a hand, presses it against the muscle underneath Hank’s jeans, “I believe there’s so much good we can do, not only for others but. . .”, he trails off when Hank’s hand covers his, pulls his hand up and entwines their fingers together.

For another moment he’s lost, lost in that gaze he can’t put a name to that Hank’s fixing him with, but he finds his voice again, so he whispers, “for us as well”.

“So,” Hank begins in a gravelly voice that sends a sharp shiver down Connor’s spine, “what does that make us? Partners?”

The DPD used that term to mean two people had been paired up to work together, often one helping the other integrate while the other learned how to teach. But the way Hank was looking at him made the word seem entirely intimate, made Connor see the word in a light he’d never contemplated before. Calling each other partners felt safe, felt familiar and wouldn’t elude to anything other than what the word meant in the eyes of the rest of the DPD.

“Partners,” he hears himself parrot back, “yes, if you’d like”.

That earns him a smile, one that reaches Hank’s eyes and makes them shine brightly. Makes the dark look he’s giving him morph into something entirely new, something he feels certain he’s never seen before. Regardless of the memories he still can’t fully access, it feels like something he’s only just been given admission to.

“Yeah,” and then, “hell yeah”.

Hank gently squeezes their joined hand, the heat from it making its way up Connor’s forearm and filling his body with this sort of lightweight feeling. Like a weight’s been lifted off of him or at least, chipped away a little more so he’s not as doubled over anymore. It feels good, it feels fantastic even.

It feels so good Connor wonders how any android would give up the opportunity to form organic connections with the ones they cared about. He lets himself bask in it, lets his mind drift away senselessly, he just wants to embrace it before his inevitable return to reality.

_Partners._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes one moment in time throws you back a few steps, and it takes a while before you can move forward again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vast majority of this was something I'd never gotten around to polishing up. It was inspired by Panic! At the Disco's song, Roaring 20's and I was listening to it on loop throughout this haha.

He can hear the shitty music blare out into the streets every time someone opens the large red doors of the Red Lion and it’s giving him a headache. Normally, Hank is all for blaring music and deep base. Hell, he’d _done_ just that one his first investigation when Connor had appeared at Jimmy’s Bar, rain cascading down his face and persistent attitude finally dragging Hank off his ass and out into the night.

Now, they’re back in a familiar setup. Connor had only ever driven Hank’s car on one occasion, back when he’d found the older man passed out on the floor from drinking too much. Despite telling the android he’d been fine to drive, Connor had given him one unimpressed look before slipping into the driver’s seat. He was sitting behind the wheel again tonight, not because Hank was intoxicated in any sort of way but rather, his hunger had finally caught up with him and the older man had wanted to enjoy the sandwich the android had made for him. And, well, Connor’s eyes are a thousand times better and having him in a direct line of sight would prove better to their investigation than having to have him draped across the length of the car.

Though, now that he’s thinking about it, the idea of having Connor stretched out in front of him is proving to be. . . _distracting_. . .

Leave it to Hank to favor hunger rather than seize an opportunity that could’ve fallen into his lap.

He tears off another piece of his meal, eyes turning up to the android who’s scanning the people walking up and down the sidewalk on the other side of the road. Hank had given him another beanie—he’d had tons of them, procuring them over the years he’d spent working high-risk cases and having to work under cover—and it covers up the android’s LED from any wandering eyes. It’s a necessary mark to check off on the list, they’re on the other side of town where much of the residents are still hesitant around androids and aren’t their number one supporter like President Warren wants them all to be.

The older police man isn’t taking any chances tonight, and he’s glad he never bothered tossing out any of his old clothes because there are many a wandering eye that look back as they walk past his car. He’d also made Connor throw on a couple layers in addition to wearing one of his old brown jackets, the one where the left shoulder is still torn open from a bullet that grazed him back in the early days of the Red Ice Task Force he’d been a part of. Connor’s too lean, granted Hank _knows_ there’s hidden strength there, it’s kept underneath a façade of the calm presence the android normally exudes. It’s there so he can lure unsuspecting criminals into a false sense of security before tearing the rug out from under their feet. At least this way, the android cuts a more opposing figure.

A bulky sweater fills out Hank’s jacket and makes Connor look like he’s got more muscle definition than he actually does. The sound of scuffling footsteps alert both men, and Hank turns his head towards his side of the car just as a lanky guy passes by his car. He makes eye contact with him, the other guy’s green eyes standing out against the pale skin of his flesh, but they move away in the next instance.

Hank turns his attention back at Connor, the android’s forehead marred with lines as his normally bright eyes are focused intently on the retreating stranger’s back. It’s all at once a stark reminder that Connor is _more_ than capable of handling himself out in the field like this. Surrounded by unfriendly characters on both sides but undeterred by the looming threats when the real reason they’ve come is to find Schmidt.

It’s comforting yes, but Hank knows Connor well enough to figure that he’s running a few different scenarios through that brain of his, and that he’s _definitely_ going to fixate on the completion of this case. The android sitting beside him is similar to the one he’d meant last year, his mannerisms were spot on, the way he could shift his facial features from welcoming to intimidating in the blink of an eye was also very familiar. But this determined look was something Hank had witnessed when he’d stopped Connor from chasing that female android and little girl across the busy freeway.

Finding results was what drove him in his work, but hopefully Hank would be better equipped to handle it this time around. He didn’t need Connor strutting into unnecessary danger, despite the fact that he was able to fend for himself.

They’ve been sitting in Hank’s car for a solid five hours now and the restlessness is starting to set in. He’s almost done eating and it’s a welcome distraction but the desire to get out and walk is achingly tempting. But the older police man knows better than to give into temptation, he’s been at this since he was just a beat cop patrolling the streets for riffraff. Hank _knows_ the rules, but it doesn’t mean he can’t daydream about stepping out and walking around, ridding his legs of the pins and needles he can feel in them.

“So,” he starts around his last mouthful of food, “has our, _friend_ shown up at all?” Hank quirks an eyebrow at Connor’s turned head, sticks his thumb into his mouth to chase after the last bit of mustard and pulls it out with an audible _pop_. It catches the android off guard as Hank notices the way the sound causes him to flinch, a wave of quivering motion starting at his shoulders and making his fingers flex. He turns and there’s a brief flicker of unease that chases away the penetrating stare that’s been the android’s primary facial expression. And then that too melts away into open curiosity, and Hank notices the way Connor’s eyes flicker back and forth from his mouth to the hand he’s placed back in his lap.

Pale fingers reach up to a thin neck, fingers pressing into the space where his artificial clavicle meets. His fingers close awkwardly around empty air and it’s when Connor drops his hand to his lap that Hank realizes he’d meant to straighten the knot of his tie. Only, the android wasn’t wearing a tie, so the motion comes off as more of a nervous tick as opposed to having to do with any _real_ need to always straighten his clothing out.

“No,” comes the obvious answer and Connor’s hands still twitch even as he sets them down on his lap, “so far my scans have yielded little in the way of results,” the android frowns, “perhaps we’ve come at the wrong time”.

Hank’s been around the block a few times, knows things like this take time and also knows that, despite being an android, Connor is impatient when it comes to the nitty gritty of it all. Either way, he lets out a thoughtful hum.

“There’s more than one night where we’re able to do this, Connor” he begins after another moment of the android looking out the window, “plenty of chance to see if he’ll—”

He doesn’t get to finish because suddenly Connor is sitting upright, back rigid and body poised like he’s ready to fling himself from the car. Hank notices _that_ particular movement and reaches out to grab his shoulder to keep the android from doing just that.

“Jesus Connor,” he bites out, “what the fuck—”

“It’s _him_ ”.

Hank feels his blood run cold, his hand feeling like a dead weight as it rested on the android’s shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

There’s a brief moment where Connor shifts underneath his grip, head leaning forward and Hank leans in as well, trying to see if he can get a good visual on what’s happening at the front doors to the Red Lion.

“Yes,” Connor hisses, “it’s him, Schmidt”. Again, he tries to move and again, Hank’s hand is there to stop him.

“Now hold on a fucking minute,” Hank barks out heatedly, causing the android to whip his head around. His face is perfectly impassive, the only give away are his nostrils flaring, indicating that he’s still ready to go for it.

“Yes,” Hank begins after taking in a deep breath, “we’ve got him coming here, _once_ in who knows how fucking long, two,” he takes another moment to run his free hand down his face.

“Two, we can’t just go in there with guns blazing, we’ll get ourselves killed”. Hank lets out an irritated breath, still firmly gripping onto Connor’s shoulder, he’s not entirely convinced the android won’t still slip out of his grip.

“We need _at least_ another night, maybe two,” he huffs as he tosses his head back, “we need to make sure we’ve got our asses covered before we do _anything_ ”.

He turns his eyes to face Connor, the android pursing his lips and his eyebrows pulled down to cast his face into something darker and more intense than he’s ever seen before. But after another few tense moments, he feels the android relax under his grip, slowly nodding his head, though his nostrils still flare. Then, and only then, does Hank remove his hand from Connor’s shoulder to rest in his lap.

“We _will_ get him, Connor,” he begins again, “we’ll get him”.

-.-

There’s an old saying that Hank doesn’t remember where it came from, doesn’t really bother to look it up either because he’s just not that interested.

April showers bring May flowers.

That’s all there is to it really, short and sweet and to the point. Even in a place like Detroit, the rain still magically pulls up the flowers from underneath the soil and pretty soon, loads of Nurseries are giving the city huge hanging flower baskets to place around. The weather is steadily warming up too, the chill steadily leaving their half of the states to be replaced with brighter days filled with the promises of Spring and then, inevitably, Summer. Time was always marching forward, whether he approved of it or not. The change from Winter into Spring was never his favorite, probably because he was always a silent witness to the leaves of the trees coming back, their flowers blooming before giving way to the familiar green foliage.

Life rising from the bitter clutches of death, basking in the light the world of the living had to offer while he’d felt no such joy. He’d often see the smiles of the people growing larger the longer the days became, the more the flowers bloomed and the warmer the weather became.

It was hard to shake his pessimism about the changing of the seasons, another habit that would be hard to change.

Hank feels something heavy nudge against his foot and he lifts his eyes up from his computer. He’d been staring at the notes Forensics had stamped onto James’ file for what felt like the hundredth time and he’d gotten lost in thought as he’d stared off at the windows letting in the bright afternoon light.

Even the bullpen had a lighter feel to it. A few desks down, Hank could hear the chipper way Wilson was conversing over the phone with someone, telling them that he’d personally see to it that their complaint about their noisy next-door neighbors were dealt with. The guy was a decent cop, but after a handful of years on the force dealing with the almost bipolar attitudes of the Detroit citizens, it was a shock to see him attentively jot down the information the person on the other end was giving him.

Towards the center of the room sat Reed and RK900, the permanent scowl the young detective usually wore didn’t quite reach his eyes like it normally did. And even the other android seemed to be sitting a little easier at his shared desk, hands resting lightly against the keyboard and LED pulsing a calming blue. His head comes up and Hank watches as his mouth moves, Reed’s expression surprisingly caught off guard and then morphing quickly back into something resembling reluctant acceptance.

Reed’s grey eyes flicker over, and Hank has the misfortune of not turning his head fast enough and as a result, makes awkward eye contact with the younger man. That scowl directed at him does reach the man’s eyes but the way he straightens hastily in his seat keeps Hanks attention. That is, until the RK unit turns his attention back at him and that’s when he feels someone nudge him with their foot again and this time he looks away to stare into Connor’s inquiring gaze.

“Lieutenant?”, he asks but his voice instantly tapers off as he follows the direction Hank’s eyes are coming from. It happens subtly, there’s a shift in the android’s posture, going from relaxed to sharp in an instant. The android’s eyes blink intermittently, the skin around his nose scrunching up and Hank can’t help but trail his eyes back to Reed’s desk.

RK900 is staring unblinkingly their way, Reed oblivious to the way his partner’s LED is pulsing a bright yellow color, the blue fading away. The, exchange between the two is over in another brief second, each one of them turning away to look back in their respective directions.

“What was that?”, he asks, brow raised as he leans a little closer across the empty space between them.

“Merely a quick explanation to clear a misunderstanding,” Connor says lightly as he presses a hand down the front of his shirt. His fingers catch on the last two buttons, but the android plays it off as it being done purposefully, the digits of his right hand coming out to straighten out the cuffs of the dress shirt he’s wearing even though it doesn’t need to be.

“Misunderstanding huh,” Hank drawls, catching Connor’s unease easily and it becomes even more apparent when the android refuses to make eye contact with him.

“About what?”, he asks because sometimes Hank Anderson likes to see if he can get a rise out of Connor, get the android to respond in a way he’s familiar with. Or maybe it’s actually because Hank enjoys the role reversal. Enjoys the fact that something has ruffled up Connor’s feathers, so to speak, and grossly invested in dragging out the android’s discomfort.

Again, the android refuses to make direct eye contact with him. Instead, he picks up a pen from the cup Hank keeps within the boundary of the space between their desks. He clicks the cap on and off a few times, his expression one of carefully placed indifference though Hank can see the discontent plainly in those brown eyes.

“Nothing that will alter our daily schedule,” Connor says in a clipped sort of manner, one in which Hank hasn’t heard since the first day they’d met. The same tone he’d used when he’d been reaching his limits with Hank’s childish behavior.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Hank huffs, and he stretches out his hand, curling his fingers inward, “hey, gimme that pen”. Connor finally turns his head to look at him, the cap to the pen hanging between his slender fingers before the android pops it back into place. A perfectly shaped eyebrow is arched over those eyes Hank has fallen deep for, and when Connor’s hand covers the remaining space between them, the older man purposefully scrapes the fingernails of his pointer and middle finger against the underside of the android’s hand.

The pen nearly clatters onto the desk as Connor’s eyes widen, both eyebrows moving to rest above his eyes as that perfectly supple mouth presses into a thin line. Hank’s fingers move nimbly, he may be old, but he didn’t reach the rank of Lieutenant just on his brains alone, and he twirls it idly.

“It’s _clearly_ got you all worked up,” he begins in a low voice and he revels in the way Connor’s frame shivers imperceptibly, a twitch here and there, “spill it”.

An indignant sigh comes out of Connor’s mouth before the android turns his chair to fully face him, their feet touching underneath the desk.

“Detective Reed had made a lewd comment regarding our. . .working relationship,” Connor begins, his face pinched and irritated and quite frankly Hank can’t blame the android, anything involving Reed elicits a similar response in him as well.

“RK900 didn’t understand the term. . .”, here the android trails off looking, for all intents and purposes, _embarrassed_ and suddenly Hank isn’t entirely sure he wants to know what Reed said.

“He didn’t understand the colloquial usage of the word, bear and, proceeded to search the term as well as inform Reed of his findings when I. . .intervened”.

_Dear Lord._

It’s the only thought running through Hank’s mind, his hands shakily dropping the pen back into the cup on his side of the desk. He can feel the rapid way his heart beats against his ribcage, can feel the heat of an inevitable blush creeping across his face. Hank’s no stranger to the association the word “bear” has in this context. He’s fooled around many times in his youth and once something stuck, it was damn near impossible to rid yourself of it. Granted, Hank had grown up in a time where the world was still evolving, and attitudes had yet to be broadened. Though, in some regards, the present could do with a little more open-mindedness.

He wasn’t even particularly bothered by the word and its implications, rather, he’s so taken aback that his mind can’t help but conjure up the scenario in which Reed had even _brought up_ the term.

And just like that, the roles are switched back and Hank’s the one left feeling disconcerted.

“Lieutenant are you—”

“Lieutenant Anderson! Connor!”

Hank is saved from the unfinished question Connor was _most certainly_ going to ask by the cheery voice of Tina Chen. The older man shoves away from the space he and Connor have been occupying to give the young police woman a polite smile, thankful to have that particular conversation derailed.

“Officer Chen,” Hank greets her cordially as he leans back in his office chair, “what can we do for you?”

The young woman tips her head in greeting, smiling brightly at the two of them before she digs insider her police jacket and pulls out a small envelope. She holds it out to Hank who immediately notices the intricate penmanship in which his name has been scrawled out. He notices the blue and white sticker keeping the envelope closed too late to refuse and so he awkwardly turns it over in his hand before setting it off to his right.

“It’s that time of year again,” she begins pleasantly, smile unwavering despite Hank not bothering to open up the envelope, “I hope you’ll be attending this year, Lieutenant”. There’s an odd dip in her voice at that, and it makes Hank sit up in chair and he’s about to call her out when he hears the sound of paper tearing and he turns his head to find Connor taking out a neatly folded invitation.

The interlacing border makes him feel nauseated, if for the sole fact that he hates anything too froufrou. It always makes him feel out of place and in a world, that’s forever leaning more and more towards the fast lane, he just ends up digging his heels in further.

But Tina Chen is a nice enough young woman, sure, the company she kept was. . .less than desirable—mainly just Reed but Hank remembers when the two of them had dated for a short period and he’s _still_ unsure how Tina can stomach being around him. She’s gone from being completely indifferent to android’s and their plight to being more open and willing, though, there are still times where she’s unsure of how to approach Connor.

“An invitation for the DPD Gala,” he hears Connor say curiously, the android’s eyes roving over the piece of paper before looking up to Hank and then smiling pleasantly up at Chen, “I’m sure Lieutenant Anderson would be delighted to attend this year”.

Hank can feel a headache blooming behind his eyes and he lets out an aggravated sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly though it pointedly gets ignored by both Chen and Connor.

“Yeah?”, Chen begins as he stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets, voice skeptical and slightly mocking but from beside him the older man can hear the genuine way in which Connor responds to her.

“Yes, of course,” and Hank drops his hand from his face to watch as those pale fingers press into Connor’s chest, the picture of candid sincerity.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Chen mutters good naturedly and Hank throws her a pointed glare in which she straightens herself out and tips her hat towards the older man, “I look forward to it then, Lieutenant”. She waves goodbye to Connor before heading over towards Wilson’s desk and dishing out another envelope.

“Really Connor?”, Hank practically seethes from between clenched teeth. The android has the decency to look bashful, an uneasy smile gracing his features that makes him look like he’s constipated.

“It would have been rude to deny an open invitation, Hank,” Connor begins lightly as he folds his arms across one another and leans towards the older man, eyebrow raised. There’s something hidden in those warm depths he levels him with, something that churns the inside of Hank’s stomach and the older man rolls his eyes.

“I don’t have a damn thing to wear to something like that anyway,” he says dismissively, narrowing his eyes down at Connor, “I hate going out as it is, like hell am I going out to buy some stuffy suit”.

The android’s eyes light up at that, his eyes casually rolling up to the upper right corner of his vision, _almost_ an eye roll but just quirky enough to be anything but. Hank hates the way the motion makes him feel—because it’s replaced with a burning wave of desire and when Connor fucking _flutters_ his eyelashes at him, Hank’s toes curls in his shoes—he’s trying to be angry, but the emotion is quickly doused.

“Screw you” Hank mutters when Connor has the audacity to look affronted, as if he hadn’t just fucking tried to use his charm to muscle his way into getting what he wanted.

“That can be arranged if it makes you more willing to go and purchase a suit, Hank,” the android drawls out in almost perfect mimicry of how the older man had spoken to him earlier.

That heat he feels doesn’t dissipate, it only sinks its claws deeper into Hank and it causes him to clear his throat when he catches the hooded way Connor is looking at him.

They’re at work for fuck’s sake!

“Get back to work, Connor,” he gripes, face uncomfortably warm, “and it’s _Lieutenant_ , when we’re here”.

He hears the soft rush of breath, the creak of a chair and the scrape of wheels against tile and then gentle rise and fall of a voice that sends a shiver down his spine at the implications of the words that fall from those lips

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant”.

-.-

A little bit of Hank’s soul cuts away from him the moment he lets the barber shear through his long locks. Sure, he knew he needed a haircut, he might have let himself go over the years, but his line of work at least demanded that he be able to see and not be mistaken for a completely homeless person. Either way, Hank feels a piece of him has been put to rest and he ends up rubbing the back of his neck for the rest of the day, his hand unable to card through the strands of hair that used to curl at the base of his skull.

He feels like a lamb brought to be sheered and now has to fend for itself out in the cold, though technically, it’s not even supposed to dip down into the 40’s tonight. . .but it’s the principle of the matter that still irks Hank well into the evening as he gets dressed.

Once he’d come back from the barber, after grumpily chewing Connor out for making him get his hair chopped off, the pair had gone off in search of suits to wear to the event that was being held downtown. Both men had found what they’d been looking for, with Connor leading the helm the entire time as he’d had Hank try on various jackets before finally allowing the older man to purchase one. Hank still wasn’t convinced that he’d needed to trim his hair or beard for that matter he grumpily thought as he ran his fingers through the short strands around his chin.

He flicked his eyes back at his reflection that stared back at him in the dirty bathroom mirror, his hands coming up to take the limp fabric of his tie and pull it through the loop he created. A quick adjustment and it finally laid flat, falling in line to sit straight against the highest point of his sternum. Another pass through his shorter hair and for the hell of it, he tossed a handful of it over to the left side of his face. The strands arched gracefully, falling into loose waves and kissing the lower half of his cheek. Hank tilts his head up and down, left and right, letting out a surprised huff of breath.

Like this, it reminds him of his early days of college, back when he’d didn’t give two shits about bending a few rules to get what he wanted. It framed his face better and with his beard trimmed down, you could clearly see the strong structure of his jawbone jutting out. Hank ran a thumb across the right side of his face, certainly impressed with the image he was staring at, but still a bit peeved because Hank wasn’t the type of guy to let things go easily.

“Did you _really_ need to have my hair cut?”, he calls out from the bathroom in faux frustration, body moving towards the door and shoulders rolling forward as he adjusted the length of his jacket sleeves. They tugged against the white dress shirt he had on underneath, and he shook both arms, flicking off the bathroom light with his left before taking two large steps into his bedroom.

He lifts his eyes up from his sleeves, finds himself sucking in a sharp breath at what he finds standing in front of him.

Connor’s suit jacket rests snuggly against his frame with just the top button pressed firmly into the slots provided. It accentuates the lithe body that could crush Hank without a second thought. It tappers in just above his waist, making the android’s frame stand out even more and it draws Hank’s attention down to the freshly ironed suit pants that, one again, hug Connor in all the right places. His eyes roam back up, finds that that slender neck has a smart little bowtie wrapped around it instead of the usual tie Connor wears.

He looks like a fucking model who just stepped off the runway and is heading out for a night of fun and games with people just as equally beautiful as him. It makes Hank feel _extremely_ self-conscious but the way Connor’s staring at him, like a deer caught in the headlights, is enough to give the man pause. Those eyes are widened ever so slightly, those lips parted minutely while the LED on the side of the android’s head whirls _yellow, yellow, yellow. . ._

Out of habit, the older man takes a hand to run through his gray locks and realizes that he had yet to fix his hair into how he normally kept it. He grabs a handful of it means to move it back into place when Connor takes a few quick steps and is standing in front of him. They both go still, Hank feeling like he’s been punched in the stomach at the look of pleasure makes Connor’s eyes impossibly bright.

“No,” it comes out as a whisper, a single word that feels like it’s being exhaled on a sigh rather than just being simply uttered quietly.

Those long fingers come up to grab at Hank’s wrist, the grip warm and strong and the older man lets his limb be guided back down to his side as hands that aren’t his own, tangle themselves in the soft strands. The brown of his eyes become darker with focus and something more, fingers combing through his hair until he feels it kiss the left side of his face again.

“There,” another breathy word and Connor moves to take his hands away from Hank’s head, but the older man feels his body move without his consent. He grips the android’s waist, presses the tips of fingers into the small dip there and rests them just above the swell of the android’s ass. Like this, Connor can’t easily remove his hands, not that it looks like he’s capable of moving any part of his body at the moment because he’s suddenly gone rigid in Hank’s arms. He’s so still, but the LED flashing on the side of his head just indicates that he’s taking in new information and trying to shift through it.

Finally, he moves, his body melting into the touch and fingers gripping the strands of Hank’s hair since they’re still buried in deep. Like this, Hank can feel his pulse pound against his skin, feel his heart beating erratically and his mouth suddenly feels incredibly dry. Close like this, those parted lips are easily within reach, so close that Hank feels his head tip forward. Connor tips his own to the side, like he’s in on what the older man is searching for and is eager to give him what he’s craving. And those eyes. . .those eyes radiate a want that Hank can feel deep in his bones. It makes the brown of Connor’s eyes turn suddenly amber with flickers of red interlaced.

He moves in further, tilting his head off to one side to press his lips against the pulse point that would be there had Connor been human. It doesn’t elicit quite the same response, but the android lets out a small sigh all the same and it’s enough of a reward for Hank.

“You look really good,” he rumbles, feeling his voice reverberate against Connor’s chest as he moves his mouth to press quick kisses up to the shell of the android’s ear, “dressed up like this”. A ghost of breath came from parted lips, the tilt of hips and the switch of a grip as Hank moved from Connor’s ear back to the android’s neck, and then this time, he allowed himself to capture those lips with his own.

That surge of energy was something he welcomed with open arms, let it tingle the inside of his mouth as he greedily kissed Connor. It was like a part of the android sparked into existence and was searching for release or at least, searching for understanding. It was almost as if the older man was, _synching up_ with the android even though he knew it was physically impossible for him to so, he himself wasn’t a machine.

And for that matter, Connor certainly was more than just a machine. His mouth was just as demanding as Hank’s was, searching for more and gently nipping at the man’s bottom lip, tongue peeking out to try and deepen the kiss himself. Hank lets him, of course, can’t deny him when they’re like this, and so he opens his mouth and lets Connor swipe the roof of his mouth. The older man sucks in a breath, a bit of Connor’s synthetic salvia hitting his tongue as the android withdraws before plunging back in.

Hank feels a familiar heat swell in his crotch, feels his dick twitch and press against the fabric of his boxers. He pulls away after one more pass of Connor’s tongue, and can’t help the audible groan that bubbles up his throat when the android’s eyes flutter back open.

There’s a faint blue tinge at the corners of Connor’s mouth, like a light is shining from the inside out and Hank’s eyes can just make out the faint white lining of the hard plastic that makes up Connor’s frame. It’s the same thing where Hank had been pressing his mouth against the android’s neck leading up to his ear. He can see the light shining there too, almost making the body of plastic shine brightly like the sun shining onto the sea. He can see the faint coloring of blue mingling there as well, can see it trailing through Connor’s body and his eyes follow it until he looks up to meet the android’s languid gaze.

His brown eyes are nearly engulfed by his irises, eyelids still lowered. Then he’s blinking a few times, hands moving and disengaging from Hank’s hair, his LED pulsing yellow a few more times before it cycles back to blue. That faint light shining from within doesn’t fade away once they’ve parted, it stubbornly remains and Hank wonders if Connor’s entire body is capable of looking like that.

And then he’s straightening out his bowtie, pressing a hand down his front and shooting Hank an almost shy kind of smile. He rubs a hand at his neck, fingers lightly running along the line that’s still shining as bright as a star.

“We best be going if we don’t wish to be late,” he starts, though his eyes are focused on Hank, the older man can see the slight way they twitch back and forth as his hand presses against that bright line, “shall we?”

-.-

All sorts of big wigs were strewn across the vast open space of the ball room, their voices mingling together until it was all just a mass hum that he could feel through the soles of his too tight dress shoes.

There were young men and woman walking around with varying glasses of alcohol on round silver trays, every one of them pleasantly offering the crowd of high-class looking individuals refreshment. Small flutes of bubbly champagne that was _definitely_ not what Hank was thinking of drinking to help quell the way his heart was hammering against his chest. And this time, it had nothing to do with the android who walks beside him.

In anything, Connor is the one who fits in better amongst the crowd. There are many important figure heads who attend the DPD Gala, from those who have deep pockets and throw money to keep the police force going to people like the Mayor of Detroit. He easily manages to charm them all, a few well-placed compliments and sincere gratitude is all Connor needs to do to get these people eating out of the palm of his hand. It’s frightening really, if he thinks about it too long, but he supposes that’s just part of what makes Connor, well, _Connor_. The android had been designed to gather intel and to blend in seamlessly with humans. It’s just, unnerving to see him do it almost, subconsciously and without having to put forth almost no effort.

Hank felt like a child who’d been dragged along by his parent because he’d scared off his babysitter again.

So, Hank _tried_ —and he honestly did put forth some effort—to give the dignitaries a shake of the hand here or, a polite hello there. They easily welcomed him in, thanks in part to Connor who was eating up the attention. There was an easy way to his walk, his stance balanced evenly and naturally as he conversed with one of the many donors the DPD favored. From Hank’s viewpoint, he appeared entirely human, not a single one of the deep pockets throwing a second glance to the side of his head where that LED was on constant display.

“How charming it is to have brought him along with you”. A woman’s voice tore through Hank’s inner musings, her words having a pleasant ring to them. She was alarmingly attractive, wearing a low cut, skin forming red dress that cinched in at her waist, molding perfectly over the curve of her backside and accentuating her chest.

The long, thin necklace she wore shone in the direct light from above, drawing _any_ man’s eyes down to stare at her breasts. Her lips were an equally bright red, nails trimmed neatly and painted on with a tasteful nude color, so the rest of her outfit could do the talking for her. Even more striking than that were her light blue, almost gray eyes, centered perfectly on her face that was done with minimal makeup.

She was dangling off the arm of Christopher Dean who was the Police Commissioners right hand man when it came to dealing with the public eye. Hank had seen him from afar for many years now, but never once been up close to actually have a conversation with the man. He was wearing a black suit and tie like all the other guys in the room, the only thing standing out was the blood red tie he wore to compliment his date’s outfit. They cut an attractive figure, exuding sheer confidence and control over this social gathering, it was a bit off putting and Hank had no idea what to do with his hands to keep from wringing them. Thankfully, a server happened to walk past and this time, Hank gratefully takes a flute from the tray.

“Yes,” Dean begins as Hank takes a few sips of the bubbly, “it’s wonderful to be able to meet the android responsible for turning the tides”. He tips his glass towards Hank before taking a sip of his own and the older man lets his eyes flicker over to Connor. His back is turned to him, the crowd in front of him laughing at something he must have said. He lets his eyes linger at the base of that slender neck, no bright light emanating from underneath. It’d steadily disappeared on their way downtown, finally dissolving back into the flesh Connor normally wore.

It had been interesting, unusual, something Hank hadn’t expected and wanted to explore further. Just like how he wanted to run a hand down the curve on Connor’s spine, to have his hands be the ones to press against the flesh there instead of that suit that was just begging to be shucked off. That ass that those dress pants clung to every time the android shifted from one foot to the other, teasing Hank with the round curve it produced, and he wondered if the flesh there was just as soft as those lips he wanted to suck. . .

Hank clears his throat loudly and hides his blush behind the champagne flute, now was not the time to be letting his mind wander down into the gutter.

“Yeah,” he begins, the word leaving his throat a bit awkwardly as he works to bring his excitement down to a more palpable level, “he’s something all right”.

Dean’s date hums at that, a smile playing at her painted lips before she twirls her drink in hand, “Clearly,” she starts appreciatively turning her head to catch a glimpse just as Connor turns, “he’s got them eating out of the palm of his hand”. She waves politely as the android steps towards them, puts out her hand as he enters their space and he takes hold of without further prompt.

“Miss Campwell,” he begins in that pleasant timber of his, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance”. He takes her hand and brushes a quick peck to the back of her hand, giving her a breathtakingly beautiful smile that makes it up to his eyes and makes the brown in them almost appear like melted caramel.

“Oh please,” she begins as she retracts her hand, “call me Elizabeth dear”, she bats her eyelashes at him and gives a quiet chuckle.

“Pleasure to meet you son,” Dean booms as he sticks out his hand to vigorously shake Connor’s hand, the curl of the android’s hair bobbing up and down.

“Likewise, sir” he responds, and it makes Dean chuckle.

“No need for the sir,” he says lightly as he gives a charming smile of his own to Connor, “Christopher will do just fine”.

“We were just talking about your ability to woo a crowd,” Campwell says with a teasing lit to her voice as she brings her glass up to tip in Connor’s direction, “you’re quite the charmer”.

Hank feels the heat in his cheeks rise, there’s little room for doubt in the way she’s looking at Connor and it’s enough to once again make the older man feel like he’s out of place. Connor, for his part, largely ignores the pointed look she shoots him, merely tipping his head and keeping his smile in place.

“You’re too kind, Elizabeth”.

She swirls her drink her glass once more, pressing her free hand to her chest, “I do hope you’ll save a dance for me once the awards have been handed out”.

Her request gives Connor pause, Hank can see it in the way the android’s eyes twitch minutely, the habit that comes from him receiving or searching for information. It lasts a few seconds and then he’s nodding his head.

“Of course, I would be delighted”.

Campwell smiles appreciatively, “Glad to hear it,”.

A voice from the stage towards the front of the room booms over the varying voices speaking, alerting the attendees that the awards are to be given out in a few moments and that they should find their seats.

Dean turns to look back before turning his attention down to his date, “Better get seated,” he says and then to Connor and Hank, “good to see you both”. They turn away and are followed by a small crowd that heads towards the front and Hank lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Connor’s concerned voice reaches through to Hank and he looks down at bright brown eyes.

“Yeah, just never been a fan of these sorts of things,” he straightens his tie with one hand, a habit he’s picked up from Connor, “do we really need to stay?”

Connor’s already heading up to sit down and Hank’s reluctantly following him, the question leaving his lips despite knowing the answer. The android gives him a quizzical glance over his shoulder, keeping up his pace, “It would be rude to leave as I’ve offered to dance with Elizabeth”.

There’s a beat of silence and then, “Besides, it’s good for the younger officers here to see someone like you,” he stops short of the chairs that are laid out in front of them, eyes scanning the crowd that’s slowly settling down.

He turns his eyes to Hank again as the man steps beside him, the depths of those orbs deepening and suddenly it feels like it’s just the two of them, “someone of your rank and professionalism supporting them”. He takes a step into Hank’s space and brushes unseen dust from his shoulders, letting his fingertips linger there before they dance lightly down his arm to grab at his champagne flute.

The look he sees in those eyes is something Hank hasn’t seen in years, it feels like something he shouldn’t be looking at surrounded by stuffy donors and important officials. It’s filthy and raw and Hank has to stop the groan from leaving his lips at the way Connor literally fucks him with his eyes.

When had the android become so bold?

-.-

There were better drinks after the awards were handed out and Hank was nursing his second glass of scotch, leaning onto a tall table as music filled the air around him. The song playing overheard starts off with an unpleasantly squeaky trumpet, the bass entering after a few beats. It’s most definitely old, probably _at least_ two decades old but it seems to be a hit with the crowd as there are large amounts of people dancing around to the song.

Hank himself prefers the sweet tones of jazz to what’s currently playing, though, the one who’s singing the song has a slight rasp to the words he half speaks half sings. It makes the older man think that he could have very well made a few jazz numbers eons ago.

From his perch, his eyes survey the crowd, passing over a few bright and sunny faces until he’s found what he’d been looking for.

Once again, blending seamlessly in with those around him, is Connor. His hands are wrapped about Campwell, moving to the beat of the music effortless with a smile on his face and his hair bouncing in front of his eyes. He twirls Campwell a few times, easily sliding under her outstretched arm and placing him with his back to the others and his face easily visible to the onlookers staying clear of the dancefloor. His lips are moving, he’s talking and as he spins them around, Hank can see the seductive way Campwell’s lips are turned up.

They continue dancing with one another, Connor leading them across the dance floor and then pulls back ever so slightly. Campwell follows instinctively and tips her head elegantly as the android presses his left hand to his back and extends his right out in invitation. She holds out her own hand, eyes sparkling as she copy’s his stance. Their palms press against one another and her eyes dip down, her eyelids heavy over those striking eyes, and they slowly circle around one another just as the song itself begins to slow, the singer almost speaking the words lethargically as if he himself has gotten drunk.

Connor seems suddenly fixated on Campwell, Hank can see it in the way his LED suddenly sputters into yellow as they continue to slowly circle around each other. Her eyes flicker back and forth rapidly across his face and Hank can imagine the words tumbling from her mouth. But then when he sees Connor’s face, it’s not what he’d expected. It’s almost like the android is in a trance, his eyes glazed over and listless and yet his LED continues to cycle through yellow and they continue to circle around one another, the song building back up the fast pace it had and suddenly Connor snaps out of whatever it was he was under.

His hands come out to grasp Campwell’s waist, plucking her from the ground and twirling them both around before he sets her back down onto the ground and grabs her hand, pulling her close and resting his hand flush against the small of her back. They pick up the pace they’d had before the slow bit in the song, continuing it for a few more moments until the song inevitably comes to an end at which point, Connor dips Campwell. It’s just low enough that Hank’s certain the android can see further down her dress that leaves little to the imagination.

She pats his chest and they disentangle from one another, a hand comes up and she presses it against the side of Connor’s face, away from Hank’s watchful gaze. His eyes are glued to her once again as her mouth moves, and then she’s leaning in and kisses the side of his face before she turns away and leaves him there. It’s a beat before Connor turns on his heel and walks back over where Hank is finishing off his scotch, the android’s eyes still clouded over but clearing slightly when he finds the other man’s gaze.

“Have a good time?”, Hank casually questions, the pit of his stomach warming up as the scotch settles there. He twirls his empty plastic cup around on the table, watching Connor’s expression carefully.

“Yes,” the android begins slowly, his forehead creased in thought before the seriousness melts away, “I think I enjoy dancing”.

Hank lets out a bark of laughter, straightening out and pulling down the sleeves of his suit jacket, “Of course you would, looked damn good at it too”, and then, “did you already know how to?”

Connor smiles bashfully, like he’d done so earlier in the privacy of Hank’s home, “I actually downloaded a preset of moves to correlate with the genre of music being played”.

“I possess the rudimentary subroutines to dance successfully but I wanted to see how far I could push beyond what’s been incorporated into my system”.

That’s one hell of a way to tell Hank that he’d learned how to dance on the spot and had no less mastered whatever he’d decided to download. His stomach does a precarious flip at that, and he’s not sure if it’s the alcohol that emboldens him or his genuine curiosity that makes him lean in close to the android.

“Imagine what else you could learn like that”, he grumbles.

Connor’s LED immediately shifts back to yellow, his eyes widening as his pupils dilate and his mouth opens and closes, an odd whirring noise escaping past those lips. There’s a soft electrojazz song that comes on next, the female vocalist practically sounding like she’s making love to the microphone she’d probably recorded the song with. It’s still not quite up to Hank’s standards, but the mixture of pop and jazz fills the older man with a kind of confidence he hasn’t felt in years.

It’s why the words that stumble from his lips next surprise him as much as they do Connor.

“Wanna learn somethin’ new?”

The sound of the music is suddenly incredibly loud, but then there’s a faint ringing in his ears that makes the sound fade into the background. His body feels hot, but the tips of his fingers are freezing, he tries moving them, but they feel stiff and don’t immediately obey his command. His heart is thumping against his chest, he feels lightheaded suddenly and there’s an acid taste in the back of his throat and suddenly he feels himself pushing away from the table. He opens his mouth and a rush of air fills his lungs and then he’s shaking fiercely.

_What the fuck?_

Distantly he hears the sound of footsteps following behind him and he’s not entirely aware of what he’s doing until he’s touching the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink. Hank lifts his head up just as the sound of the door opens and his body goes rigid when he sees Connor’s concerned face staring back at him.

It’s always this back and forth with them, Hank thinks, and it feels like time slows down. His heart is still pounding when Connor enters further into the bathroom, brown eyes fixated on the man’s reflection. The android’s steps are slow and measured, like he’s afraid he’s going to scare Hank away like a wild animal. And Hank can’t breathe because despite how much he wants this, despite how much he wants to bare his whole soul to Connor, the very idea of it frightens him and tightens around his throat until he’s choking.

Maybe it has to do with years of denying himself the help he desperately needs to cope with his severe depression, his thoughts of worthlessness suddenly bombarding him the moment he’d let his guard down. Let himself believe that he could _have_ someone as beautiful and fucking cheeky as Connor when the android was his own person and could have anyone in the world. But fuck it, if he doesn’t want to kiss away the worry written so openly on the android’s face. He wants to tell him that it’s going to be all right, that’s it’s going to be fine, but the words die on his tongue because he’s not so sure he’s _ever_ going to be okay.

He lets Connor reach out and press a hand to his shoulder, the grip firm but light, giving Hank the wordless option of shaking him off if the touch was too much.

It’s not, and Hank lets out a shaky breath that morphs into an equally unsteady laugh, “I’m a mess”. It’s the truth he’d thrown at himself for years, telling himself that he’d never be able to dig himself out of the hole he’d dug.

“Hank,” his name falls so gently from those lips that it makes the older man turn around, Connor’s hand moving to rest at the back of his neck, “I’m here for you”.

And those four simple words are enough for Hank in that moment, and he pulls Connor forward and kisses him.

It’s soft first, a gentle push and pull of two bodies that are intertwined and connected far beyond what partners at the precinct are meant to be. The android moves closer, presses Hank’s back into the counter of the bathroom and licks at the other’s man’s lower lip.

He willingly parts his mouth open around a sigh and feels Connor plunge his tongue inside, but Hank doesn’t let him swipe the roof of his mouth. Instead, he wriggles his own muscle against the android’s and suddenly their kiss becomes desperate and needy and Hank’s scrambling for purchase on Connor’s lapels. His fingers curl around the fabric for a brief moment, and then he runs his hands down the android’s tapered sides and squeezes that small waist, grips it and tugs and moves them around so it’s Connor who’s back is pressed into the counter.

The android lets out a huff of breath, his eyes snapping open before sliding shut in the next moment as he lifts himself up onto the counter and pulls Hank closer to him with legs that he wraps around the older man. Connor’s kisses become rushed, hurried in their search as he nips at Hank’s bottom lip and arms wrapping themselves around the back of the man’s neck, sinful little noises escaping the corners of his lips every time Hank pulls back to sneak a deep breath.

He feels his dick twitch at each little noise the android makes and experimentally, Hank moves to the side just enough to press the bulge in his pants against Connor’s inner thigh. What he hears is a sound he’d never thought an android could make, let alone an android built to hunt down criminals. The noise Connor makes is nothing short of a goddamned _mewl_ , a high pitched, staticky sound that has Hank’s head snapping up just as the android turns his head away.

Those perfectly straight teeth bite down at lips made wet and slick by their fervent kissing, eyelashes frame those hooded eyes that are impossibly dark and overcome with desire that has Hank pressing his erection once more into Connor’s thigh. A pretty blue blush suddenly stutters across the bridge of Connor’s nose and compliments the color of both his hair and eyes as the android finally rests that lustful gaze down onto Hank.

“People. . .outside. . .”, it sounds like he’s out of goddamn breath and that in of itself should not turn Hank on as much as it does. And fucking _Christ_ , does he look gorgeous. His eyes filled with want and the older man ready to give it to him anyway he wants because Hank’s never been really good at denying Connor what he wants. The android’s entire body feels warm to the touch and Hank slips a hand into the inside of the suit jacket he’s wearing and palms at the synthetic muscle there that suddenly feels more human than he’s ever thought possible.

Connor sucks in a breath and Hank can feel the way the skin moves underneath, a simulation of what it’s like to take in the air around you and fill your lungs with it. The sound stutters a bit, that warmth radiating from the android’s body hiking up further and through the cracks of his fingers Hank sees a faint light shining from the inside out.

His eyes follow the light that travels up from where Hank’s hand is pressed against the android’s side as it enters into full view out from behind Connor’s neatly tied bowtie. It’s brighter than earlier, lights up and shows a brief flash of the hard-white plastic underneath.

“ _Hank_ ,” his name is spoken in earnest, pitched slightly higher than normal with the letter of his last name making an odd _clicking_ noise at the back of Connor’s throat. The older man feels like he’s years younger, staring up at a face overcome with want, feels like all of his cares have vanished and even though he can hear the faint whisperings of doubt, he pushes them down.

Tonight, he wants, and tonight, he’s letting himself finally have it.

He leans forward, pressing his lips lightly against the shell of Connor’s ear, “Have a way to hear outside of the door?” He nips at the android’s earlobe and it makes the android shift in his place on the counter.

“Ah—, y-yes but—”

“Do it”.

A throaty demand that has a shiver running through Connor’s body, Hank can feel it ripple through that warm body and feels it as it travels up the hand he has yet to remove from the android’s side.

In the next instant, his mouth presses quick kisses down the android’s neck and then follows up the curve of his chin and claims Connor’s mouth. Beneath his hand, Hank feels the android stiffen but once he nips at the android’s bottom lip, he’s compliant and enthusiastically returning Hank’s increasingly desperate kisses.

He feels Connor’s hands grab fistfuls of his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp as he gives the tiniest of tugs to which Hank lets out a low grumble against the corner of his mouth. Suddenly those hands fall from his head and travel down either side of Hank’s shoulders, gripping his upper arm on both sides before Connor’s hands are dipping inside and he’s actively pushing against Hank’s suit jacket. The older man doesn’t help him though, instead, he focuses on trailing his fingers up Connor’s dress shirt until he’s stopped from going any further by the one button the android had slipped into place.

Effortlessly, Hank flicks his fingers around it and unhooks it, the jacket falling away just as Connor breaks away from him with another breathy sigh. And then Hank’s undoing all the buttons single handedly, ignoring the way the android’s body arches up, trying to get the older man’s hand to slip under the fabric and touch the now exposed skin. Instead, Hank takes his hand and tugs at the neatly done up bowtie, pulling at Connor’s neck until it loosens and falls away to rest limply against the android’s chest that he’s only realizing is moving up and down rapidly.

Little lines of light are running up and down Connor’s body, up the well-muscled stomach, forming a small hump over those perky nubs for nipples the android’s sporting. The indent where his thirium pump regulator sits inside of him is shining the brightest, the skin there shimmering. Like it was one touch away from shattering and revealing what lay beneath. Transfixed, Hank brings his hand up and traces the outline of the regulator, the skin fading away just as he’d imagined. . .

And Connor _moans_ at the touch. Arches his back and presses up into Hank’s fingers as his eyes flutter close, his mouth forming a perfect “O”.

It’s the picturesque image of unadulterated pleasure Hank has ever seen, and he’s seen tons of porn in his lifetime.

He puts more pressure against the edges of the regulator pump, the shimmering effect it’s having on Connor’s body travels further and suddenly the android’s entire body is covered with bright white lines, each one sparkling like the sea during a sunset, the skin phasing in and out in certain places.

“Don’t st-stop,” comes that breathy plead and he looks up to find those lust filled eyes staring back at him hungrily, “keep touching me, touch me _everywhere_ ”.

Hank suddenly feels incredibly overwhelmed and in that, he lifts his hand a bit from where he’s pressed it. It’s not what Connor’s after, so the android grips his wrist, the knuckles of the android’s hands entirely white while the rest of his skin is still intact. The android takes Hank’s hand and presses it against the white of his neck and another pretty moan spills from those lips. It echoes off the walls of the bathroom, the only thing louder than that was the music coming from the other side.

And then Connor’s grip goes slack and he’s leaning up and cupping the side of Hank’s face, that blue blush taking over the high points of his cheekbones and pupils completely dilated. His thumb teases the corner of Hank’s mouth, moving up and down before pressing the man’s bottom lip. The android doesn’t tear his eyes away from Hank as he tucks his thumb into the man’s mouth. Hank swirls the digit in his mouth, opens his mouth and flicks out his tongue to lap up and down, the tiniest trickle of saliva slipping past and dribbling down his chin.

Those eyes blink sporadically, trying to stay open, and suddenly Hank wants to touch Connor everywhere, just as he’d requested.

He pulls away entirely, Connor _whining_ at the sudden lack of touch and lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, his eyebrows moving down on his face as he tries to look irritated, but it only serves to make Hank’s dick twitch.

“In the stall,” he says thickly, his voice pitched low and he holds out a hand for the android to take as he places himself back on solid ground. Hank whisks them into a random stall—any will do, so long as they’re surrounded by four walls and tucked out of sight should anyone enter and see him fucking his partner.

He slides the lock closed and moves them around, so he can press Connor’s back against the door, slips his hands back under that suit jacket and yanks it off and tosses it haphazardly towards the metal bar that sits above the toilet paper dispensers. He slams his mouth hungrily against Connor, the android shrugging out of his dress shirt and letting Hank tug it off and throw it where his jacket is threatening to fall onto the dirty floor.

The mixture of warm skin and cool plastic throws Hank’s brain for a loop, but it’s one well worth it if he gets to keep hearing the high whines slipping from Connor’s mouth. He presses open mouth kisses to the android’s clavicle, relishing in the sharp shivers that cascade through Connor’s body.

Hands come up clumsily to his belt, tugging at it uselessly a few times before finally getting it undone. The sound of a zipper being pulled down enters the symphony of sinful noises and where Hank had might have been self-conscious about having his pants and boxers being pushed aside at some point, it’s overpowered by the desire for release that he can feel once the android pulls his cock from it clothed prison.

He breaks apart from their kiss when Connor gives the shyest of tugs, a deep moan making its way out of his mouth and he lowers his gaze down at the android whose tongue makes a quick swipe across his lips when he ducks his eyes down to stare at what he’s holding.

Hank’s not embarrassed per say, that’s the wrong word. He’s actually rather proud of what he’s got going on down there, never once running into an unenthused response upon seeing him at full mast. It used to do _wonders_ for his confidence when he was in his mid-thirties, but now, that appreciative look settling in Connor’s eyes as he gives another tug is enough to make the older man’s face burn with how he’s bearing a part of him no one has seen in such a long time.

“L. . .like this. . .?”, Connor’s voice is low, almost heavy sounding as he continues to tug experimentally at Hank’s dick. It brings the older man back to the bathroom stall they’re in and doing this and he gathers up his courage to push through the awkward feeling gnawing at him.

He shifts his stance a bit, moving so he can wrap his fingers around Connor’s and tilts his hips in a way that he can see what while also explain. Through their connection, Hank can feel his pulse beating and it gives him pause before he takes the android’s finger tips and applies a bit of pressure. A spark of pleasure shoots up from his groin and spreads that feeling throughout his body as his heart pumps blood. His eyelids flutter momentarily but he forces himself to keep them open as he guides Connor’s hand up and down his shaft.

“Just like _this_ ,” another swift tug and he bits his lip but the groan comes out anyway, “ _ah, fuck_ ”.

He lets go of Connor’s hand, lets the android continue to stroke him in increasingly quick motions while he presses one hand onto the android’s back and moves his other over the indent in the middle of Connor’s chest.

They become lost in one another, and they search for each other with teasing tongues and gnashing teeth. Beautiful noises continue to fill the air around them, from both increasingly needy partners.

Distantly Hank can hear the sound of the music but then suddenly it’s pouring into the bathroom and Connor has the unfortunate timing of twisting his hand sinfully around his dick and pulling a deep throaty groan from the older man. Luckily, the music from outside masks the sounds he makes, and he shoots up an unsuccessful glare at Connor whose head is pressed against the stall door so hard, it’s making the white lines of his neck scatter up his chin and breaking away the flesh.

Connor’s too gone in his own brand of pleasure to notice the music blaring into the bathroom once again, the sound of shuffling footsteps before an angry, familiar voice pulls at Hank’s stomach.

“Don’t fucking follow me in here,” comes Gavin Reed’s snarl of a voice, cutting through the music that’s now muffled again by the door.

“Detective I insist,” it’s RK900 because _of course_. Who else would willingly follow Reed anywhere? _Of course_ , they’d be parading around the event, they were part of the DPD force after all. Reed’s android must’ve dragged him out just as Connor had done to him.

“You’ve been behaving irrationally this entire evening, all I suggested is that we retire for the evening”.

“Oh really?”, Reed sarcastically questions and Hank can hear the sound of the young detective’s shoes _clacking_ against the bathroom tile, “well I say I’m doing fucking great! Perfect even, never been better!”

There’s another swift jerk at his dick and Hank’s brought back to what’s happening in front of him. He sees Connor, slacked jawed and eyes narrow slits of intoxicated desire, it’s a direct punch to the older man’s groin and he can’t help the shudder than runs through his body. The android’s lips turn up to give a coy smile at the sensation of Hank’s body quivering, but the older man doesn’t let him revel in it for long because as soon as he’s able, Hank grasps Connor’s wrist and slows the steady pace into an aching crawl.

There’s a beat of silence before Hank hears Reed let out a huff of breath, “Why don’t you make yourself useful and schmooze someone with deep pockets to increase my fucking salary, tin man”.

“I was merely suggesting that we leave, Detective,” RK900 starts and Hank’s not sure what to call the slight bit of inflection the other android gives to his words, he’s pretty sure he’s never heard the android speak in any way other.

“Why are you willing to sacrifice your own well-being? Does it have to do with the night we—”

Hank hears a sharp _slap_ , though it’s muffled by the suits he knows both Reed and Rk900 are wearing.

“It’s not,” Reed says vehemently, “I said never to bring that up again, idiot”. The bite in Reed’s voice dissipates upon that last statement, like he’s had this conversation before and is beyond tired of having to defend himself.

“You don’t have to keep up this charade either,” the young detective says, and Hank can picture the sour look he’s fixing the android with, “it’s really creepy and stupid, so stop”.

“Is that what you think this is? Some sort of game?”

A scoff from Reed just as Connor leans his body forward and presses his mouth against the bit of exposed skin on Hank’s neck.

“Of course, no one ever sticks around long”.

Another stretch of silence passes, and Hank swears that his heart is beating loud enough for both RK900 and Reed to hear. He waits for it, foolishly, but he’s on edge and dying from the slow pace he’s keeping Connor’s hand.

“I’m. . .not like everyone else. . .”. The words come out raw sounding from the android, like he’s almost trying to hold himself back from feeling anything else but the stoicism he’s always presented to others.

“Don’t need to fucking tell me,” Reed’s voice is sharp, but quiet, “I know that you’re just a bucket of bolts”.

“I’m not just. . .I’m. . .”, RK900 struggles to find the words, Hank can hear the strain in his voice and can picture the android’s LED pulsing yellow maddeningly, “Gavin. . .I’m not— “.

“I don’t care,” Reed cuts off the android before he can continue, and the older man hears the scrape of shoes against tile again as he presumes the young detective is finally leaving. But then he hears a loud yelp come from the younger man, the muffled sound of RK900 reaching out and grabbing him. It’s followed closely by Reed’s incessant slurs and punches of his own. Hank’s almost willing to come between the two, push them apart before a fight breaks out. But the thought dies just as soon as it hits him when Reed’s curses are suddenly quiet and muffled.

The wet sound of lips connecting with each other rings out and Hank’s not sure how to take the fact that RK900 is kissing Gavin Reed and that, from the pleased moans coming from the young man, he’s enjoying it as well.

He decides not to dwell any further on it, instead, he takes the opportunity of the added noise to sneak in his own quick kisses to Connor’s mouth.

  
The bathroom at the annual DPD gala fills with inappropriate sounds that the visiting dignitaries are unaware of and a dark curl of satisfaction shivers through Hank as Connor’s movements around his dick pick back up where they’d left off. It’s weird to think about what’s going on outside of this stall and not get that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Hank never considered himself to be into exhibitionism, but it’s currently doing wonders for him.

His hands roam over the bright lines littering Connor’s body, pressing his hands under the shimmering skin until it flickers away to reveal more white plastic. The older man gets too wrapped up to notice the way the android straightens up ever so slightly, taking in a deep breath he doesn’t need. He doesn’t even take note of the stuttering pattern his hand takes up until he hears the low rumble of RK900.

“Gavin. . .let me take you home,” a pause as more wet noises follow that request, “now”.

There’s a grumbled response from Reed that Hank doesn’t quite catch, followed by the rustling of clothing and the sound of the faucet turning on before the music from outside spills into the bathroom and then quiets down once again.

In that moment, Connor’s hand starts to bob up and down faster and Hank lets out a guttural moan, pressing his face into the crook of the android’s neck and biting down onto what little synthetic flesh there is left. A sharp pain reverberates in his mouth as he’s suddenly biting into plastic, but it’s pushed into the background as he feels a tight heat begin to coil deep in his stomach.

“ _Shit_ ,” he’s spilling over the android’s hands in thick white spurts, his body jerks backwards, his nails digging into Connor and toes curling in his shoes as his orgasm causes him to throw his head back and lets out an embarrassingly lewd moan.

A deep satisfaction settles deep in Hank’s bones when he remembers to breathe again, opens up his eyes that he didn’t realize he’d closed, and they fall down onto Connor who’s tracing a finger in lazy circles.

“Goddamn,” he begins in raspy voice, “were you, did you. . .?” He’s having trouble getting the words out, his brain unable to process anything other than the

“If you’re asking whether I was able to achieve release, the answer is yes,” only Connor is able to talk like that to him and have that deep-seated heat furl in closer around Hank’s heart. He doesn’t want to move, but he can feel his spunk trailing further down his softening cock and so he reluctantly removes himself from the android’s arms and grabs a few fistfuls of toilet paper and cleans himself up.

The android follows suit, putting back on his button-down shirt and slipping on his jacket in one solid motion. In the next, he unlocks the stall door and steps back out into the open space of the bathroom. His synthetic skin is slowly bleeding back into place, but his body is still alight and glowing blue. It’s the only thing Hank can tell that anything out of the ordinary has happened, because Connor casually flicks his hand against that wayward curl and turns to give the older man a gratified smile.

“Shall we retire for the evening, Lieutenant?” He asks, his eyes shining with an almost devilish like charm.

“Sure,” he drawls as he moves to quickly wash his hands and straighten out his clothes one more time, “let’s go home”.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some dialogue used from parts of the game again that I don't claim ownership over.

He looks into the mirror once more, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear before deciding against it and flicking it back out to rest against the top. It’s a few shades lighter than his original hair color, the light from the DPD bathroom making it look like it has highlights of red in it.

The sleeves of his charcoal gray sweater pool down near his wrists and he pushes them back up again as he continues to fiddle with his hair. The sweater is a little scratchy against his synthetic skin, but Connor supposes he shouldn’t have had high expectations for the article of clothing considering they had fished it out from the Lost and Found. He’s still slightly irked that Hank wouldn’t let him wear one of the nicer shirts in his collection because the waffle pattern on the sweater is charming yes, but it’s not one he’d have picked out for himself.

It’s also too long and too wide whenever he stretches his arms out, it practically swamps his small frame and he wasn’t too keen on the way RK900 raised an eyebrow in silent question when he’d first slipped it on.

Connor much prefers the difference in eye color the most. It’s an icy blue, slightly fainter around the edges so it’s not quite the same as Hank’s, but it’s close enough that every time the android stares at himself straight on in the mirror, a pleasant wave of satisfaction courses through him.

For the past few nights, he and Hank had been sitting outside the Red Lion, watching as night after night Schmidt would come in and out of the establishment. It was enough time to gauge what kind of patronage the night club attracted and how best to infiltrate so they could gather the information they desperately needed.

Tonight, they were going to make the next move right under Schmidt’s unsuspecting nose. And tonight, they were going to be accompanied by Chen and Miller as well as Reed and RK900 and Hank.

The days following the gala had proven. . .interesting, for Connor in particular. That night he had followed Hank into the bathroom wasn’t what he’d call an excellent place to become intimate with the older man. But the mood of the room had facilitated such a response from him and once he’d decided to jump, he’d committed to it all. Their interactions with one another seemed more, relaxed and easy, and Hank seemed to reach out for him more.

A lingering touch whenever Connor brought him coffee, or whenever the android would lean in across the empty space between their joined desks. It was also in the way they shared their own, secretive smiles whenever they were working and happened to look up at the same time. There wasn’t any awkwardness about it, just open acceptance and it was a connection Connor had never realized he’d needed until he’d been given a taste.

They did, however, not discuss the situation of Reed and RK900. Mostly because Hank didn’t want to know any further details about the nature of their relationship but partly because he just didn’t feel the young detective had any redeeming qualities about him and didn’t want to see him as a, “nice guy”.

Connor thought it was childish, but Hank considered it to be perfectly reasonable.

Either way, the android relented and never told Hank about his unspoken conversation with the RK unit the following Monday at work. Connor was just thankful that the younger model had granted his wish and had ushered Reed out, so he could bring Hank to climax and tumble down after him.

He blinks a couple of times, takes a hand down from his head to brush his fingers against the skin of his neck as he uses the other to brace himself against the counter. His sensors don’t pick up anything out of the ordinary, simply registers that the tips of his fingers are brushing against his neck.

Thumbs the spot where Hank had trailed his lips to and from, but again, it’s just his systems passively altering him about the area that’s being touched.

Connor can remember the way the man’s large hands had caused a spark of energy shooting through his entire systems. Remembered the way his body had steadily lit up from the inside out and had felt like he was going to overheat every time Hank touched one of the lines that made up his chassis. He’d been grabbed and pushed around several times, knew what it was like to be touched. Touched even in the special way Hank reserved for the two of them under the cover of darkness or the emptiness of a bathroom stall.

But he’d been wrong, so very wrong.

That night Connor had been touched in way that seemed to have burnt a pattern onto his skin. Invisible to the human eye but easily detectable when the android purposefully pressed the pads of his fingers against the slight bulge of skin where his Adam’s Apple would be if he were human. In that, the faint feeling of Hank’s own hand’s roaming over his body flickered to life and in that sense, Connor had never experienced _touch_.

He looks back up at his reflection, lets his hands fall to his side as he takes a step back to stare at into the blue eyes looking back at him.

Connor’s never really understood how humans can seek out experiences like sex and drugs to the point where it affects them mentally and emotionally. Doesn’t comprehend the almost, animalistic urge they seem to fall victim to until they’ve had their fix. But he feels like he can _almost_ understand. He’s been touched in a way, so few people get to enjoy in today’s society, and he thinks he’s hooked.

His eyes flick down to the brown beanie on the counter and he quickly pulls it on, covering up his LED before tugging a few strands of hair out the sides and stepping out of the bathroom and back into the small conference room.

RK900’s eyes are the first to find his, the android standing with his arms resting behind his back and his partner leaning back in one of the chairs with his legs propped up against the dirty white walls of the room. Reed’s arms had been waving around lazily when Connor had opened the door, and now the young detective has turned his own piercing gray gaze over to where the door is slowly closing behind him. There’s mild annoyance in the look Reed pins him with, but it fades away when RK900 bends down and whispers something into the younger man’s ear.

There’s quick upturn of lips, a huff of breath that approximates as Reed’s laugh, “You’ll fit right in with the crowd, now that you don’t look like you’ve got a stick up your ass”. The remark is quickly followed by an annoyed exhale from RK900 and Reed’s smirk turns into a scowl once more. He looks like he’s going to chew the other android out again when the sound of another door opening has him quickly shutting his mouth and pushing off the wall.

“Alright everyone,” Fowler’s voice booms as he enters the room, “let’s go over this one more time”.

Connor makes his way further into the room and moves to join Hank and Chris Miller who have stopped conversing with one another as soon as the Police Captain had entered into the room. Chen is sitting down on the table just in front of the other two men and she turns around to give Connor a friendly wave before turning back to give her attention to Fowler.

The Police Captain takes a moment to eye each of them, a serious look set deep into his dark brown eyes before he folds his arms across his chest and starts to speak.

“I don’t want anybody flying off the handle tonight,” he stares at Reed for a few moments longer, the younger man clicking his tongue in his mouth before continuing on, “we get Connor in, have him to a little digging, and then we get the hell out of there”.

“This is only just a small step towards something bigger, so I’m going to need everyone to play their parts”.

He looks over to his right where a majority of them are gathered, “Miller, Chen and Reed, you’re to pay special attention to what Connor’s able to pick up on audio, but I also want you to be close enough to give him backup if someone catches on to him”.

“Right,” Chen says nodding her head, bits of her hair falling into her face. She’s taken it out of the tight bun she normally puts it in for work, and she’s wearing a plain navy-blue sweater and jeans. The better colors to wear in order to fade into the late evening and look less like she’s just sitting in a car and watching people.

“You got it,” Miller says giving Fowler a two-finger salute and tip of his head. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and light washed jeans along with a plain black baseball cap. Reed only waves a hand in the air dismissively before stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket.

“Hank, you’ve got visuals on the outside, anything starts looking an inch out of place and we’re leaving”.

Beside him, Hank mumbles under his breath but verbally responds all the same, “Sure thing boss”.

“RK900,” at the sound of his, “name”, the other android perks up, LED cycling from blue into yellow and leveling the Police Captain with a firm gaze, “you’re going to be our extra set of eyes on the inside, looking around while you’re linked up to Connor and getting anything else of interest he might not be able to get”.

Again, those gray eyes flicker over to him and again, Connor meets them. A moment of silence passes as he takes in the indifference of those eyes before the other android turns away.

“Affirmative, Captain”.

There’s a slight brush against his neural processors, the ghost of a touch before it withdraws, and Connor does his best to remain passive. He doesn’t mind RK900 giving that sort of, wordless greeting to him but, there’s still something about the newer model that he can’t quite shake. Clearly Fowler has kept them both on, seeing the assets they truly are to police work—not to mention how he and Reed have grown. . .closer. . .

“That leaves you, Connor,” the sound of his name draws the android’s attention towards the front of the small room, “like that, you should have no trouble getting in and out”. Fowler pauses, uncrossing his arms to brace them against the sides of the old desk that’s in the room, “just know that if at any time, you feel like you need to go, you’ll be covered”. He waves a hand around the room in a large sweep, indicating to everyone, not just Connor, that they were meant to work together.

“Tonight, you’ll go by Michael Woods, you’re just passing through and happened to hear about the popularity of the Red Lion and wanted to come check it out,” the Police Captain takes another moment to stare at his team of officers, making sure they’re truly paying attention to him as he gives his final directions.

“Be on your toes everyone, I don’t want any slip ups tonight”.

-.-

It’s turning out to be quite the blustery night, Connor can feel the force of the wind hitting against Hank’s car as they pull up a safe distance away from the Red Lion. When the older man finally turns off the engine, the android pulls down the mirror to adjust the brown beanie one more time. He doesn’t want to risk it, though he knows well enough that it’s not going to budge, but Connor doesn’t want to leave anything to chance tonight. They need this.

The lights from the car finally fade and it leaves the two of them sitting in the dark quiet of the car, just the sound of the wind lashing back and forth.

“You all set?”, Hank asks quietly, turning his head to cast his eyes over at the android.

“Yes,” he answers with absolute certainty coiling in his chest, “I’m eager to get more information”.

Hank hums at that, digging in his pocket for a few moments before pulling out his ear piece and hooking it onto the soft ridge of his ear.

“Lookin’ like that, I’m sure you will,” a coy smile plays at the corners of Hank’s lips when he turns his eyes back onto the android, “I have to admit though, I prefer you with brown eyes”.

It’s Connor’s turn to look away, casting his eyes slightly off to the right, a warm pull grasping his heart at the words.

“They remind me of you when I look at myself,” he says quietly, “it’s like having a piece of you wherever I go”.

A soft chuckle escapes the older man’s mouth, eyebrow quirked upwards in amusement, “Yeah well,” he begins in a gravelly voice, shaking his head a bit and mumbling something under his breath. His own joy bubbles up at the man’s awkwardness at being unable to properly articulate a response to the sincerity of Connor’s words. It’s something the android feels he hasn’t heard in some time, but he wants Hank to know that what he says is true, he’d never lie to the man.

Connor reaches out and grasps Hank’s hand in his own, causing the older man to turn back to look at him with the faintest hint of a blush over the bridge of his nose. Hank’s embarrassment melts from his face after a few moments, squeezing the android’s hand, “Sorry it’s just—I mean, I’ve been out of the game for so long—”

“I know,” the android responds as he sees Hank struggling for the right words, “and it’s okay”.

“Well one day, I’m going to find the words to tell you what I mean,” Hank says and there’s a sudden glint of determination that flashes across his eyes.

“I look forward to it,” Connor says, sincerity coating his words and he brings the man’s hand up to his lips to press a featherlight kiss to the back of it before letting it go. There’s a slight pinching that happens right behind his eyes, and he blinks a few times, static whispering through his ears until there’s another presence inside his head. There are others there too, off towards the back like they’re trying to peek over but too afraid to take another step forward. He recognizes it as RK900 linking up to the wireless headsets and connecting them all, and himself, into Connor’s mainframe.

“You good?”, Hank asks with concern lacing his words.

“Yeah,” Connor begins slowly, craning his neck back and forth before rolling his shoulder back. There’s still a slight pinch, but it’s steadily fading away, “I should be ready to head out”.

Hank nods his head, places his hand over the head set as Connor steps out of the vehicle, the wind whipping at the long edges of his sweater. Immediately, the android’s scan pick of Chen and Miller a few car lengths to his left, RK900 and Reed down over to his right, everyone in position and ready to get the show on the road. He gives Hank one last sideways glance before stepping away from the car and out onto the road, taking quick steps to avoid the oncoming traffic, and then ambling himself slowly towards the doors of the Red Lion.

“Nice and steady tonight,” comes Hank’s voice through the linked connection and it’s like the older man is standing behind him.

“Yeah, yeah,” comes Reed’s obnoxious voice, sounding more nasally through the link, “just don’t fuck it up bucket of bolts”.

Connor stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dark-washed blue jeans, hunching his shoulders up to pretend he’s staving off the cool air whipping at his face. He even turns off his temperature regulator, so his body can respond accordingly to the shifting temperature from the outside once he enters into the warmer building.

They’ve never once seen any androids coming into or even walking past the Red Lion. But that wasn’t to say they couldn’t have simply flicked off their LED indicators in order to blend in with the human crowd that seemed to be the establishment’s target audience. Luckily, Connor would easily be able to spot the ones trying to blend in and bypass them easily. He wasn’t there to question an android’s choice in coming to the Red Lion, he was only there to get information about Schmidt.

Tonight, seemed to be one of their busier nights. There was a line forming at the door, a tall man dressed in all black with short cropped black hair and sunglasses. It looked like he was turning away quite a few patrons, a few of them barking out derogatory slurs at the man who only pointed them away from the Red Lion, the pop of bubble gum sounding after everyone he sent away.

When Connor finally slinked into the line, the five people ahead of him were instantly waved off, the bouncer not even bothering to check their ID’s.

“Shit,” comes Millers’ voice over the com, “should we cut our losses? Try again another night?”

“What makes you think they won’t do this again any other night?” Reed hisses back, “just stay there tin can”.

The five people walk away from the Red Lion, slightly disgruntled and bitter but don’t put up much fuss, and Connor’s about to fish his ID out of his pocket when the bouncer turns around abruptly. There’s still chatter happening in the background of Connor’s audio receptors and he turns the volume down but can feel the agitated spark of RK900 who has a clearer view than him.

Connor knows it’s Schmidt before the man opens his mouth to speak.

“David, my man,” Schmidt begins jovially, patting the bouncer on the shoulder, “how’s it going tonight? See anyone you like?” He lets out a high-pitched laugh, the man, David, unimpressed as he only straightens out his stance.

Schmidt’s laughter dies down with a click of his tongue, and there’s the sound of shuffling going on and then David’s taking something from the other man.

“I need to see Kit-Kat, all right big guy”, he says in a low and threatening voice, and Connor can see the man’s shadow step closer thanks to the lights coming off from the Red Lion, “now step aside”. David lets out a grunt, but otherwise steps aside and allows Schmidt to walk past him.

With the bouncer out of the way, Connor seizes the opportunity and quickly scans the man. And old DPD picture of him with long brown hair tied up in a ponytail shows up instead of how his hair looks like now. It’s a buzz cut, just short strands of fuzz sticking out from the top of his head. He’s wearing that same shirt from their first encounter all those weeks ago, the green shirt with the yellow lopsided cross stretching across the fabric. When Connor lowers his scans, the man turns his piercing green eyes in his direction. Behind him, the android can hear the angry voices of others who have lined up behind him, shouting their disgust at Schmidt who gets to enter in without a second look.

All of course which Connor takes no interest in doing, he’s only interested in keeping eye contact with Schmidt who falters in his steps slightly, head upturned to cast an interested gaze down at him. It’s like he’s looking right through him, or maybe past him and towards the others who are yelling at him.

But then he’s turning away, waving a hand in dismal but Connor can hear his voice as if he’s speaking directly to him.

“Let the kid with the beanie in, looks like he might catch a cold if we leave him out there”.

David looks down at him, letting out a tired sigh and popping his gum in his mouth loudly a few times before jamming his thumb towards the Red Lion. Connor blinks a few times, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket and quickly makes for the door, the sounds of the angry patrons left outside fading away as he goes through the entrance and is immediately hit with a deep base that seeps into his wires.

It is dimly lit inside, a few pink and purple lights pulsing to the beat of the music as it bounces off the walls. There are clouds of smoke blanketing the entire entry way and lingering well into the main part of the Red Lion. High above and looking down from the center of the room is a booth bracketed by two tall pillars of light that also pulse to the sound of the music. There’s a girl with a faded mohawk wearing iridescent circle frames over her eyes, the tight curls of her hair bouncing up and down as she moves back and forth.

On either side of her are box seats, some with a few people dancing in them while others have men and women draped languidly over each other. Some turning up their heads to kiss one other while laughing giddily.

Tucked into a far corner off to his left, there’s the bar. Backlit by a bright blue light and shelves lined with bottles upon bottles of liquor and expensive looking glasses. It’s crowded with various men and women leaning against the counter, bartenders wearing bright purple shirts and pouring drinks left and right.

There isn’t any traditional seating, no large bulky tables and chairs pulled out to help fit a large party. Instead, tucked underneath the box seats are half circle spaces draped on either side by cream curtains lined with eyelash detailing that feathers out. On the floor are large gray floor cushions that look like sofas that have had their legs sawed off. All of them are in various states of occupancy, with some being filled to the brim while others have only a few patrons either smoking or drinking nonchalantly.

In the middle of it all there’s a large open space, slightly elevated to help differentiate from the rest of the space. There, Connor watches as groups of people dance around one another, glasses in their hands or cigarettes hanging lazily from their lips.

It’s all a bit overwhelming, if he’s being entirely honest with himself. Some of the men and women are dressed up in revealing clothing, their hair combed back either neatly or running wild as the rising temperature of the room seeps into his body.

He feels RK900 nudge at him, a silent question ghosting coming through as binary and one Connor doesn’t quite have time to put into words because as soon as the other android connects with him, he hears the sound of laughter coming off from his right.

His eyes land on Schmidt, the man pressing the palm of his hand against the wall while the other is waving about wildly. In front of him stands a petite raven-haired woman, her arms loosely crossed in front of her, a hip jutted out to one side. She’s wearing a cropped, long-sleeved top that has a plunging neckline. There’s a bit of her midriff showing as she moves her arms up to bat playfully at Schmidt’s shoulder, his hands having gone down to run his fingers down a hip that’s clad in a black mini skirt. He leans in close and whispers something to her and they pull apart and she gives him a quick peck to the cheek, smiling prettily as his hand wanders up to slip a couple fingers underneath the black choker around her neck.

There’s a door Connor hadn’t previously noticed, and he watches as Schmidt gives a final peck to the mystery girl and slips in. Her head snaps towards where Connor has been ogling the inside of the Red Lion, and a smile quirks at her lips. She pushes herself from the wall as a tall man comes to her side. She greets him merrily and points vaguely out towards where Connor is standing. The woman doesn’t appear to wait for a response as she pushes away from him and makes her way over, her steps quick and sure.

“Heya hot stuff,” she begins once she’s within ear shot. Her light brown eyes are alight with mirth and he can feel RK900 inside of his head again, buzzing around like an obnoxious fly, “wanna buy me a drink?” She takes a step into Connor’s personal bubble, the scent honey and apple wafting off of her as she takes hold of his hand and leaves him no room to argue.

Through his shared link, he can hear Reed cackling followed by a sharp grunt from RK900 who bleeds annoyance into their connection. Honestly, how did those two not rip each other apart?

Connor lets himself be dragged over towards the bar, the woman making a beeline towards the very edge of the counter. She catches the eye of one of the bartenders, a brown-haired man who waves a few customers over towards a few others working on the other end. He moves over towards the two of them, eyebrow raised in question as he pulls out a short glass from under the table.

“What poor sap have you got tonight, Mackenzie”, he sighs wearily as he turns around and pulls down an expensive looking bottle of Absolut from the shelf and into the short glass, “look bud, I’m gonna need the money up front like, now, knowing the one you’ve picked tonight”.

He says this, but then moves to grab some Dry vermouth and peach liqueur, adding it to the glass while the woman, Mackenzie, draws lazy circles onto the table.

“Aw come on Aaron,” she whines though she doesn’t appear to be the least bit offended, “when have I ever left you empty handed?”

Aaron gives out another tired sigh, throwing in a dash of orange bitters and then Dry curacao before snatching it up from the counter faster than Mackenzie can snatch it from him.

He gives her a bitter glare, clutching the glass to his chest, “One too many times, Mack,” he leans against the opposite counter and folds his arms across his chest, “now tell you pal to pay up or I’m drinking this myself”.

“Oh, come on,” Mackenzie groans and then whirls around and puffs out her bottom lip up at Connor, “I’m sorry my friend’s being such an asshole, but would you be a dear and buy this one?” She brings up a slender finger and traces light circles into the fabric of the sweater the android is wearing and again, he can hear Reed’s voice snickering over their connection followed by a sharp whistle from Miller.

“Don’t keep the pretty lady waiting Connor,” Miller sing-songs, laughing loudly alongside Reed, though the other officers’ laughter seems less degrading that Reed’s.

“Hey,” Mackenzie’s voice cuts through the men’s laughter and Connor blinks a couple times and looks down into her sharp stare, “you gonna pay him or not?” There’s an edge to her words, a warning as the warmth of her voice temporarily dips down and has Connor awkwardly fishing out his wallet.

“Make it 30,” Aaron starts just as Mackenzie groans loudly again, “and I’ll wipe your debt for the week”. Connor pulls out a few bills and hands them over to him, Aaron placing the drink onto the table. Mackenzie snatches it before Aaron can berate her further, sticking out her tongue childishly before grabbing Connor’s hand again and leading him back towards the other side of the club.

“Damn,” she says once she’s picked a place for them to sit in, “didn’t think he’d harass me like that”. She plops down onto the floor cushions, tossing her head back and scowling up at the ceiling for a few moments before she situates herself and takes a sip of her drink. She turns her light brown eyes towards Connor, the android carefully setting himself down and she regards him openly, letting her eyes trail up and down and then back again before she says anything more.

“Never seen you in here before,” she takes another sip of her drink, cradling it in her hands, “thought I knew just about everyone who comes into the Red Lion”.

Connor leans forward in his spot, lacing his hands together, “I’m visiting from out of state, my parents and I never really got along once I decided to bypass college,” he looks from his interlocked hands and up towards her, smiling softly, “said I wasn’t going to amount to anything”.

It’s a simple enough story, one Connor can easily make move in any direction depending on who he’s talking to.

Mackenzie hums at that before grimacing, nodding her head and taking a deep drink, “Yeah, I get that,” and then, “you’re good looking enough to get away with anything though”. It’s a bold statement and her expression doesn’t change, it’s still open and easy for Connor to read.

“I didn’t catch your name,” she starts again after a moment as she leans forward and sticks out her hand towards him, “you already know me, name’s Mackenzie”.

“Michael, good to meet you Mackenzie,” Connor says without missing a beat, grasping her hand and shaking it. She squeezes back firmly before quickly letting go and leaning back into the floor cushions, crossing her left leg over her right.

“I’d have offered to buy you a drink Michael,” she says a bit apologetically, giving Connor a sheepish smile, “but Aaron tapped me out about a month ago, said I couldn’t wrack up a higher bill without chipping away at it first”. She clicks her tongue, sitting up briefly and pulling out a single cigarette and lighter from her back pocket of her skit and handing them to the android.

“I always keep at least one on me,” she says winking as Connor takes them from her, “I’ll let you have the honor of smoking that while I drink”.

The android easily clicked the lighter to life, placing the cigarette between his lips as he’d seen Hank do countless times before. He brought the flickering flame up to the end and took a few puffs, holding in an unnecessary breath as he handed Mackenzie’s lighter back to her, only exhaling once she’d pocketed the thing.

He could feel the smoke curling annoyingly around his wires, his systems alerting him to the foreign body invading the space, but with a blink of his eyes he dismissed them. Smoking for this one night wouldn’t do extensive damage internally, and actually, he preferred this than having to pretend to drink and get tipsy with Mackenzie. Taking in the nicotine into his systems was one thing but taking in actually alcohol meant for human consumption only would have been more, precarious of a situation to tread.

“This place is pretty cool,” Connor begins conversationally as he takes another drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke trail from his mouth lazily, “looks a lot bigger than from the outside”.

“Yeah,” Mackenzie gives him a crooked smile, letting her eyes wander around the large space in front of them, “was a lot smaller before, but my friends invested a shit ton of money into it to knock it out”.

They sit in amicable silence for a few seconds until Connor leans against the floor cushion and tilts his head to one side, “That guy you were talking to,” he begins slowly, carefully watching the way Mackenzie’s eyes narrow slightly around the rim of her glass, “is he your boyfriend?”

There’s a long stretch of silence, one where he can distinctly hear Reed growl at him and Hank sigh loudly. He didn’t quite understand what the harm was, after all, he was here to do a job and he’s was beginning to feel antsy now that he knew Schmidt was roaming about somewhere he couldn’t see.

“You don’t just _ask_ someone that when you first meet them,” surprisingly, it’s Chen’s voice that Connor hears through their connection, “that’s like asking a girl about her weight, not a good idea”.

“Yeah well,” comes Reed’s voice, “he’s not exactly been out dating before”. The younger man gives off a haughty laugh, “Bet no one would ever want to date him”.

“Jesus Reed shut the fuck up,” comes Hank’s disgruntled voice, “forget about him Connor, just keep doing what you’re doing”.

Mackenzie cracks a smile, teeth peeking out from behind her lips and she lets out a roaring laugh, her entire body shaking, and she wipes at her face, “Oh man, Wyatt? Fuck no!” She tries to get a sip from her glass, the liquid in her cup bouncing up and down, “I wouldn’t touch that sleaze bag with a hundred-foot pole”.

Her laughter slowly dies down, and she’s finally able to take a sip of her drink. Her eyes turn serious for a moment, looking away briefly from Connor before knocking back half of her drink.

“You, on the other hand,” she begins in a low voice, eyeing the android in an almost predatory fashion, “what’s your story? Got some girl back home?” She leans forward, her left arm pressing up against her side and accentuating her bust. She flutters her eyelashes at him and Connor feels himself reeling back at how close she’s becoming, her hand coming out to snag the cigarette from between his lips.

“Changed my mind,” she says by way of explanation, “you made it look too damn good to pass up.” She takes a deep drag and blows out a large cloud of smoke before turning back to give Connor another crooked grin, “Buy me a couple more drinks and maybe I’ll give it back to you”.  
An interesting prospect to be sure, he can hear Reed’s excitement through the connection as well as RK900’s mounting frustration towards the younger man. Though, for once, Reed might not have been too far off. If Connor could get close enough under the pretense of trying to reclaim his stolen cigarette, then he would be in range of the pressure points needed in order to temporarily knock her out.

He moves himself closer to Mackenzie, the woman not so much as batting an eye at his slow advance towards her. In fact, she turns to face him, drink clasped in one hand while the cigarette dangles from her lips. Slowly, Connor moves a hand up her arm, keeping a watchful eye on her face the entire time he’s leaning in towards her.

She’s not threatened by him in the least, and he watches as her eyes flutter close as he brings his hand further up to rest on her shoulder.

Very quickly, before she can snap her eyes open, Connor presses his fingers into the side of her neck. There’s a jolt that goes through her entire body before she’s slumping forward into Connor’s chest. Carefully, the android takes her glass and cigarette, placing the worn nicotine stick into her drink before laying her out onto the floor cushion. Once she’s taken care of, he gets up and makes his way over to the man Mackenzie had been talking to after Schmidt had left through the door he was standing in front of. He tells the man he thinks something’s wrong with Mackenzie and begrudgingly, the man leaves his post.

Only when he’s out of eyesight does Connor open the door and slip in.

The hallway Connor finds himself in is dimly lit, a few flickering bulbs on the ceiling above and casting odd shadows across the walls. His eyes quickly adjust, and the android cautiously begins to make his way down the hall. To his right are a couple of doors, both of which are opened up wide and filled with mundane items such as extra bottles of cleaning solutions, extra floor cushions, and dozens of beat up boxes that look like they’ve been repaired more than once. Connor takes interest in them, looking through the boxes in each of the rooms to find various employee uniforms and discarded name tags that look equally as worn out as the boxes they’re being stored in.

“. . .Con. . .wh. . .”

“Tin. . .fu. . .”

“Wou. . .for. . .ou. . .”

Connor drops hold of one of the nametags he holds in his hand, walks carefully to the edge of the doorway and peers out. There isn’t anyone, just the flickering of the lights above to keep him company. He ducks back into the safety of the room just to be on the safer side just as a rush of static fills his audio receptors and then cuts abruptly. All that he gets is a vanishing wisp of RK900’s consciousness, telling him to be alert. Interference with both outside communication.

Connor supposes that _can_ still happen when out in the field. After all, a majority of the buildings on this side of Detroit are old and the walls surrounding him currently could still very well block out reception.

But _internal_ communication being blocked. . .well, that certainly took some forethought and knowledge of the inner workings of android’s and their ability to sync up over great distances. Connor supposed for the time being that he was on his own.

He peeks out the side of the door again before slinking further down the hall before following it to the right as it curved.

What greeted him was a single closed door, light flooding out from underneath it as he could hear voices speaking from behind. To his left, there’s an emergency escape, the exit sign above it shines brightly, and Connor makes sure to move in that direction in case he needs to make a quick exit.

The android moves closer, pressing his shoulder into the wall, the voices louder now.

“That ain’t gonna cut this time, Kitty Kat,” it’s Schmidt’s voice that he hears clearly first, and it sounds equal parts irritated as it does pompous.

“I’m giving you a fair percentage here,” comes a woman’s voice, high and breaking on a few of the words, like she’s struggling to get them out, “cut me some slack here”.

There’s a low chuckle from Schmidt, the rustling of fabric before the woman he’s talking to lets out a sharp gasp. On instinct, Connor feels his lower body jerk and he bites in the inside of his lower lip to keep himself rooted to his spot.

“Suit yourself princess, I’m out of here”, Schmidt states, sounding incredibly bored.

Connor can hear the man’s footsteps and braces himself, his body tensing up and sensors becoming hyperaware as the handle to the door jiggles a few times before the door is opening.

In an instant Connor is on him, throwing his arms around Schmidt’s neck in a way he hopes to knock him out. But the man is incredibly strong, his own hands coming up to dig his fingernails into the synthetic flesh of Connor’s forearms. He lets out a garbled grunt, sucking in a deep breath before turning on his heels and knocking Connor full force into the wall furthest away from them.

It hardly does what he expects it to, in fact, in only serves to have Connor wrap more tightly around the man’s neck. He can feel Schmidt’s body begin to shake, the man sputtering out and head lashing about wildly and there’s a spilt second where Connor believes him to be going limp when instead, he feels the man’s boney elbow jab him in the stomach. The android lets out a grunt of his own, hands loosening just enough for Schmidt to get out of. Connor has just enough time to bring his arms up to his face as the man swirls around, fist coming into contact with Connor’s solid body instead of his face.

As Schmidt takes a step back, Connor takes a step forward, throwing out his own arm to connect squarely with the other man’s shoulder. It jostles the man back a few steps, breath escaping him in a wheezy gasp but then he’s rounding down on Connor, kicking out his leg and slamming it into the android’s side.

It does what it’s intended to do, momentarily paralyze Connor as he lets out a grunt of his own and takes a few unsteady steps backwards. In his slight daze, Schmidt manages to land a few hits to his face, the man hissing out as he connects with Connor’s jaw. Then, he moves to connect his fist into Connor’s chest, followed by his stomach, each jab pushing the android back a little further.

Schmidt tries to land another punch onto Connor’s side, but this time the android’s able to side step and the man’s hand goes through the space between his arm and his side. It’s enough time for Connor to grab hold of the man’s arm and twist it so he can spin him around and shove him onto the ground. He’s got him pinned to the ground for a few tense moments, but it must be the adrenaline pumping through his veins because Schmidt is able to push Connor off of him.

It causes Connor to tumble onto his back, his head thudding against the floor before he can feel Schmidt leap on top of him. He’s pressing the entire weight of his body onto Connor, and it’s surprisingly difficult to move out from under him.

Briefly, he can see Schmidt dig inside of his pockets, shakily pulling something out and leaning down into Connor’s personal space. He can feel the man’s hand run up his stomach and stop just where his thirium pump regulator sits.

“You think you’re tough shit huh?”, the man spits out breath ghosting across Connor’s face and making the android turn his head away. The motion angers Schmidt however, and suddenly there’s a sharp stab he can feel pierce the synthetic flesh of his neck and he can feel the other man’s lips press against his ear, his breath hot as he practically growls at Connor.

“Well I’m on to you,” Schmidt continues, letting out a breathy laugh against the android’s face before slowly pulling back and grinning crazily, “it’s a shame really, I wanted to dance with you one last time”.

It’s lighter, not quite as deep, the voice that Schmidt is talking to him with and Connor’s suddenly hit with the memory of a woman with red painted lips and beautiful blue eyes. He remembers his brief dance with the woman—Elizabeth, his mind supplies—and her masterful way in being able to direct all of Connor’s attention onto her and her alone.

He can remember the warm press of her hands against his cheek, the room slanting off to one side slightly before quickly righting itself. There’s a devilish twinkle in her eyes as they move around one another, words falling like a lover’s sigh from her red stained lips.

_“Life would be infinitely boring through one set of eyes, don’t you think? Connor?”_

_Elizabeth laughs as they continue to dance, the music fading into the background as she presses a warm hand to his cheek. Her lips are pulled up into a smile though it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her words are strange, they’re odd coming from a human such as herself and he can’t quite place why._

_“Why live and die as one thing, when you could live forever? And help give endless life to others, wouldn’t it be wonderful?”_

Connor takes the moment to scramble away, getting up to stand and ready to keep fighting when he watches Schmidt turn around a bust his way out the exit. In an instant, Connor is running after him, pushing open the door with so much might that it slams against the wall outside. It doesn’t make any sense, none of it at all, and he can’t seem to grasp the fraying ends of what’s just happened or even how he could have possibly overlooked his conversation with Elizabeth, no, with _Schmidt_.

He can see the man’s retreating figure, and he can feel the sudden burst of RK900’s connection flowing through him. But as he takes a step to chase after Schmidt, he feels a sudden tightening in his chest. It blossoms out from the middle and he can feel an odd warmth spread through his wiring, snaking out to different parts of his body.

One step and he’s suddenly falling to his knees, a hand coming to clutch at his chest as sudden error messages begin to fill his vision. He can’t blink them away fast enough because as soon as he thinks he taken care of one, two more pop up and they’re coming increasingly faster and faster.

He doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps come up from behind him, doesn’t notice the worry etched into a worn face that’s seen the worst humanity has to offer. Instead, his body suddenly jerks backwards, and he feels like he’s falling and static fills his ears again. Only this time, it’s high and scratchy and feels like his head is going to implode from the noise itself. The warmth he feels turns into a burning sensation, but his limbs aren’t obeying any of his commands and in fact, his vision in front of him looks like a broken television screen.

Reds, blues, yellows and green flickering wildly against a static background.

He feels like he can’t breathe even though he doesn’t need to and the though alone is enough to terrify him.

It feels like he’s. . . _dying_. . .

He doesn’t want to die, he thinks as he struggles against the burning he feels slowly devouring his insides. He doesn’t want to leave, not when he thought he’d have a chance at being able to live. Not when he thought that he’d be able to track down Schmidt and take him in.

Connor doesn’t want to die, but the pain he’s in doesn’t care about what he wants. It simply robs him of what little he was able to cultivate and pushes him so far down it doesn’t feel like he’s falling anymore. Rather, it feels like he’s drowning.

-.-

No one ever talks about what happens after. Mostly because, no one who dies is able to come back and tell the tale leaving it as one of life’s many unanswered questions.

Connor’s fairly certain that there’s no afterlife waiting for him seeing as how he’s not human and can be broken down and put back together so seamlessly it’s like he’s a new person upon every activation. Like a child being born with no memories of their past lives and what they’d been able to accomplish.

It’s a grim thing to contemplate but what makes Connor finally opens his eyes is the quiet sigh of wind blowing through the leaves of trees.

At first, he doesn’t want to, Connor doesn’t want to believe that there’s anything waiting for him aside from never ending darkness and loneliness. But still, it’s the android’s built in curiosity that finally gets him to open up his eyes and stare up at a serene blue sky.

He’s met with bright pink flowers that sway back and forth on thin branches of a tree that towers above him. There’re bits of sun that manage to peek through the spaces in between the branches, dotting Connor’s body in dapples of light, places where the android can feel the warmth soak into him.

It’s a sight he’s not entirely accustomed with but one his mind doesn’t shy away from, instead, it reaches out to tangle itself within the familiarity of what his eyes are looking at. Slowly, he sits up, pushing his arms against the grass covered soil beneath him to stare out at a glitchy mess that is the rest of where ever he’s ended up.

There’s a bright white path that’s juxtaposed with a well-worn cobbled path that leads out to an odd fanned out structure. Again, the sight seems to stir something within Connor, and he finds himself standing and walking towards the edge of the grass he’s standing in, looking out at the structure in front of him.

_“Hurry Connor, there’s little time”._

_“You need to stop this, whatever it takes”._

_“I love this place, everything so calm and peaceful, far from the noise of the world”._

There’s a soft but urgent undertone to the voice he can hear being whispered to him and Connor finds himself moving towards that fanned structure. The world around him stutters slightly once he reaches the structure and he takes note of the long twisted stems of the roses that are wound tightly against the lattice board that’s propped up against it.

_“. . .I was wrong. . .”_

_“Maybe he did, but you chose not to ask”._

The words are dark and dangerous, like the thorns of the roses he finds himself reaching out towards. He feels something heavy push against his chest, feels himself try and push against it but with little effect.

_“I chose not to play his twisted little game! There was no reason to kill that android”._

Connor closes his hands around the thorns protecting the roses and feels the sharp stab of pain before he closes his eyes and is falling backwards.

-.-

Just as soon as he feels he’s falling, Connor can feel wind whipping at his face and as he blinks his eyes open at the sensation of his body being thrown up against a wall.

_“. . .and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off. . .or things are gonna get nasty”._

He’s sliding down a wall, the voice ripe with deep seated hatred that Connor can still feel when he finally gets his bearings. Connor’s eyes trail up to find Hank looking at him with open contempt, his mouth twisted into a menacing scowl beneath the gray beard covering his chin. His eyes are as cold as ice and once again, the world around the android shivers and distorts near the edges.

_“Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?”_

The voice nags at him and when Connor blinks, Hank is gone, and it leaves the android completely alone in the corner of the man’s desk. There’s an aching sense of confusion that sits in the pit of his stomach, tugs at his limbs as he straightens out his tie and shirt. It leaves him feeling vulnerable and shaken, unsure of whether he wants to keep going. But then there’s a sudden burst of determination that overrides his insecurities and has him pushing forward out into nothingness.

-.-

_“What are you waiting for?! Chase it!”_

Connor feels his body moving forward before he realizes it. Feet hitting against the pavement as he chases after someone, weaving in and out of the people he runs past. All while maintaining his speed.

His artificial heart his thumping wildly in his chest, blue blood coursing through his body as he wills himself to move ever faster. Connor can’t afford to lose sight, even though he has no idea what he’s meant to be chasing anymore.

Tall stalks of corn suddenly greet him, and he runs through them without a moment’s hesitation. He can feel the leaves brush past against him, bits of it falling into his face as he moves through it, no end in sight.

There’re voices on the other side that he can hear, and Connor feels himself dive forward as the world around him twists and warps once again.

-.-

He can hear rain, the water falling down steadily onto the roof above him with droplets falling from his face and onto his jacket. His back is cold, but there’s a deep-seated feeling of affection bubbling in his chest and making his heart pump rapidly against his chest.

Hank’s just standing there, eyes boring into him.

The man’s hair is combed through a little, the waves more tamed in appearance than when he’d been sprawled on the floor. He’s tall, incredibly so, and Connor’s never noticed just how looming of a figure the man is until this very moment.

Something flutters inside, something he’s been trying to ignore because he has a job that needs to be done. But it’s there, a nagging sensation that he can’t quite rid himself of and now as he stares at the, admittedly minimal, effort Hank has put into looking presentable. . . Connor isn’t sure he can keep ignoring it.

The back of his skull tingles even as he offers the barest of smiles, the older man remaining impassive as his eyes trail over the android. Part of Connor begins to wonder what life could have been like if he’d been born a human into the world of Detroit. Would he have stumbled across Hank? Would he still befriend the man?

Would it be easier to understand everything if he’d been born human?

It all flies through Connor’s mind in an instant, like blinking, and then it disappears just as Hank moves away from him.

That unnamed sensation doesn’t leave despite the older man having gone away, it only increases, and it worries the android beyond anything else he’s been faced with.

-.-

The sounds of water fill his ears as the air around him grows cold and grips him tightly. The soft give of snow under his shoes comes next and soon he can hear the sigh of the wind behind him, can feel it tugging on the tails of his jacket.

Connor opens his eyes to stare at the dots of light coming and going across a brightly lit bridge, the construction standing tall and impressive against the dark sky that’s devoid of stars as it’s taken over by thick gray clouds.

He can feel the eyes of Hank boring into his back, burning hot holes into his skull and he turns around.

Hank’s sitting on a bench, the wind playing with the long strands of his gray hair, the snow that’s falling from above blending in effortlessly. There’s an imploring glare the man is fixing him with, one that fills the android with a kind of tired dread he’s never felt until this moment. There’s an undercurrent of hope that he can feel twisting inside of his wiring, but the way Hank stalks forward quickly snuff it out as soon as it appears.

_“. . .but what are you really?”_

Hank’s lips don’t move but Connor can hear them as if he’s said them.

“Whatever you want me to be”.

The answer runs across his mind lazily but definite, like he’s known this from the beginning despite their discrepancies. And it’s true, Connor finds, startling so actually. He’s finding himself slipping further and further away from his primary objective, further away from the task he was meant to complete. He’s playing a dangerous game, toeing the edge of human and machine and stumbling beside Hank who doesn’t seem to know what he wants from Connor.

Hank withdraws his gun, points it straight at Connor and the android feels like he should be more unnerved than what he actually is. Part of him wonders with grim curiosity if the older man is going to finish him off right here and now, vent some of his deep-rooted anger out on Connor who himself feels like he’s battling his own inner demons. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen to him but that doesn’t mean he’s on board with figuring out what awaits him.

_“Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?”_

It’s something he’s never considered before. It’s always been the case that Cyberlife would simply deploy another model, send them out to pick up where he had inevitably failed. Death for him in those instances wasn’t even a word he could understand. But now? Now that he was falling further off the path and finding more questions than answers, he wasn’t too sure what actually happened to him.

“Nothing. . .” he whispers out and frowns, hands clenching into fists as he feels a fresh wave of _fear_ wash over him, “ _Nothing_. . .”

The world shivers and when Connor blinks he finds that he’s looking up at the sky, the world gone completely silent around him and it fills him with a sort of peace he never thought he’d get to experience.

Something cold wraps around him, pulls him down further and he doesn’t fight against it. He can feel it swarming around his wiring, caressing his entire body and he lets himself get swept up in it, lets the tips of his fingers go numb.

 _This_ is the end, he thinks suddenly and once more, he’s not as shaken as he should be when just literal seconds ago he’d been fearful of this exact outcome.

And then he’s opening his eyes, looking up above him as he sinks further down, sees something coming towards him. It heavy and warm despite the cold Connor can feel, whatever it is that’s holding him is radiating heat and the android can’t help but burry his face into it.

_“I know it hasn’t always been easy, but I want you to know that I really appreciated working with you. That’s not just my Social Relations program talking, I-I really mean that. At least, I think I do. . .”_

It’s a thought that Connor feels rush through him, coming from somewhere else to drag him forward instead of deeper into the darkness.

And the world around him shatters into a million bright and shining pieces.

-.-

It’s like he’s been hit by a truck.  
Not that, he knows what that feels like, it’s just the closest thing his frazzled mind is able to conjure up. Besides, he might not have been hit by a truck, but he was most certainly clipped by a speeding car once.

Definitely not one of his crowning achievements, but he’ll take it anyway.

He tries moving again, the gentle sound of beeping catching his ears as his audio receptors buzz back online though stubbornly, his sight remains black. He feels like shit, like he’s gotten the absolute stuffing knocked out of him. What happened to him? His limbs feel like lead weights, like he hasn’t been moving in months and he doesn’t quite understand what’s going on.

Three white dots become visible in the lower right-hand corner of his blackened vision, followed by a sequence of commands and key words before his systems deem it optimal that whatever’s happened to him has passed and is now reverting power back to his optical nerves.

Gradually, he opens his eyes and is greeted with a dimly lit room with the sound of beeping getting progressively louder. It bounces off the small room and when Connor musters the energy, he’s able to finally turn his head to the left, looking out a small window to see the sky painted with pink and orange hues.

It’s either sunrise or sundown and Connor’s not entirely up to figuring out which exactly because his head is _killing him_.

There’s the sound of a door opening, gentle humming followed by a high whistle that has Connor wincing in pain as he turns his head towards the noise.

“How wonderful it is to see you again, Connor”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to put this up yesterday, but this cold I've caught punched me in the gut and trapped me in bed.
> 
> *12/01/18 EDIT* I've got more of this written out, I've just been busy with my externship at the moment so it might be a while still. I'm also thinking that there might be three-ish chatpers left in this and they're a bit long in my outlines. But again, we'll see.*


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute!
> 
> This has been sitting on my computer half finished for quite a while now and I've not had the time to sit down a write. What with working really late and whatnot. But I haven't abandoned this!

_“Shit,”_ Reed’s voice comes over the coms and Hank can practically feel the younger man’s annoyance bleed into him, “we’ve lost the fucker”.

“Calm down Reed,” Miller’s voice is calm, but Hank can catch the barely contained agitation that hangs off the way the young man says Reed’s name.

“Well, what are we _supposed_ to do?”, Chen asks in exasperation, “Connor was our eyes and ears and now he’s flying blind”.

Hank leans forward in his seat, hands coming up to grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles begin to turn white from the pressure. They can’t just very well storm in there without knowing where Connor is exactly. Doing so would only put the android in unnecessary danger and Fowler himself had specifically expressed his interest in maintaining a low profile.

“Well, Anderson,” Reed growls out begrudgingly, “what the fuck do you wanna do?”

He could have Chen and Miller step outside and try and secure any exit points, just in case Schmidt tries to lose them. They don’t really have any grounds to be entering the building, flashing their DPD badges to get access to where they wanted either.

“Chen, Miller,” he calls out, “I want you guys posted near that side exit, RK—”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“You’ve got visual on that exit, right?”

“Yes”.

“Good, then I want you to pay extra attention when Chen and Miller get there, let them know if it’s clear or if they need to book it”.

“Of course, Lieutenant”.

“It’s not the best plan in the world doing this blind but,” Hank grinds his teeth a little and squeezes the steering wheel, “it’s what we’re going to have to deal with”.

“Oh, come on,” Reed complains, “I’ve barely had anything to do all night, let me at the action”.

“That would be ill advised, Detective Reed,” comes RK900’s cool and collected voice, “I suspect that if Schmidt were to flee, there’s an equally high chance we’re more likely to find damnable evidence inside the Red Lion”.

“Deciphering what is, and what isn’t, substantial is your precise area of expertise and while not as adrenaline inducing as chasing down a perp would be, it is a better use of your talents”.

There’s a beat of silence before the com is filled with raucous laughter from Chen and Miller, followed by a sling of curses from Reed who’s actually mumbling under his breath instead of trying to yell above Chen and Miller.

It’s also at that exact moment that they hear a loud clang come from the side of the Red Lion and without saying a word further, RK900 is bolting from the car he and Reed are in.

The world around him blurs together for a sickening moment, dark and heavy imagery invading his space as Hank thrusts open his car door and hits the pavement running. His hand flicks his gun from its holster as he runs, people outside the Red Lion spooked by the sudden rush of people coming towards them.

Hank ignores them in favor of rushing down to the side street where the noise came from, knowing that RK900 is undoubtedly chasing down Schmidt and when he finally makes it across the street he can see that Reed has inevitably run after him.

He also spots Chen and Miller run past Connor, the android standing with his back to him as the other officers come up to his side.

Momentary relief fills him but is instantly ripped from him when he watches Connor turn and stumble to the ground. Instantly, he’s there, Chen and Miller stepping aside to deal with the crowd that’s clinging around the alleyway.

Eyes that aren’t Connor’s stare up at him, hollow and empty and devoid of the life the older man _knows_ is behind there. And then, just as he’s about to shake the android, Connor’s body seizes up in his arms. Back arching backwards and garbled noise spilling from his throat. It’s nothing Hank has ever heard, it’s all high-pitched whirs and clicks.

But it makes it out to sound like he’s choking, and Hank can’t stand to hear but, he also doesn’t have any fucking idea of what to do to get Connor to stop. The android’s eyes are fluttering uncontrollably, the only thing visible are the whites of his eyes and from somewhere behind him he can hear a cry for help, can’t discern if it’s Chen or Miller or someone else.

Connor continues to convulse, his body quivering and limbs smacking the pavement and Hank’s body. A bit of blue blood begins to bubble up from the android’s throat and this time, it definitely sounds like the android is choking. In a panic, Hank tries tilting Connor’s body forward, hoping to whatever god will listen that he’s doing some _good_.

It does little to help though, because as soon as he tries to move the android, all movement comes to an abrupt halt.

The flickering of his eyes stops, and he shuts them, the blue blood flows over his open mouth and dribbles down his chin to coat his sweater and Hank’s hands.

It takes his mind to register what he’s looking at, what’s happening before he rips the beanie from Connor’s head to spot his LED.

It’s a bright red, pulsing wildly but at least still moving.

_“FUCK”_ , he shouts out, bringing up a hand to tug at his hair.

What the hell is he supposed to do? Is any fucking human hospital going to be able to _deal_ with this? His mind wanders to Markus and Simon but remembers that the pair couldn’t possibly know what to do due to their limited supplies.

But then who _else?_

Fuck this, and fuck this fucking situation he’s in. Why the hell did Kamski ever think—

And that’s when Hank’s struck with a thought and runs away with it.

-.-

He drives like a madman on a mission which, technically he is. . .the mission part, not the madman although many at the DPD have tried to label him as such.

No, he drives like he’s never driven before. Sirens blaring and foot pressing the pedal down to the floor as he whips past Detroit traffic until he’s a blurred line driving down country roads.

Normally, he’d pay more attention, give a shit about safety and whatnot considering the last time he’d been careless behind the wheel it had thrown him down a life of depression and destruction. But he feels like he’s hyperaware, focused, body coiled tight and ready to spring at a moment’s notice. This isn’t any good either but, it’s what he tries telling himself, so he can drive.

Hank tilts the rearview mirror down, so he can get a good glimpse of Connor’s prone figure. His LED is still cycling through red, not fading away to gray like he’d witnessed the time Connor had taken several bullets for him in Stratford Tower.

What he hopes behind hope is that this fucking creep is going to have enough time to save Connor.

The older man never thought he’d be paying Kamski another visit. Once was quite enough and the way the man’s eyes had gleamed with morbid interest at how Connor had refused to shoot that Chloe would still send shivers down Hank’s spine.

He finally turns his car down the path to the enigmatic man’s home, thrusting his car into park when he pulls up and heaves Connor out of the back seat. The android’s a little heavier than Hank had anticipated, his head lolling backwards like man peeking his head above water to breathe. The older man gnaws at the inside of his bottom lip, shuffling Connor’s dead weight around so he can pound on Kamski’s door.

It opens after a few good _thwacks_ that leave a tingling sensation running through Hank’s hand. Standing there when the door does finally open is Chloe, her eyes as bright and as inviting as the older man remembers though, her grip on the door is a bit guarded.

“Lieutenant,” she begins quietly, Hank’s name leaving her lips in a sort of confused wonder, “I’m sorry but Elijah— “.

“I need him,” Hank begins quickly, cutting off Chloe as he has no idea just how much time he has to help Connor.

“Please I. . .”, he continues on, the words flying through his head but unable to leave his mouth as a tight knot begins to form in his chest.

_Can’t lose him._

_Can’t help him._

_Don’t want him to die._

_Please no, God no._

Chloe’s eyes trail down to the limp form in Hank’s arms and he can see the way her eyes glaze over slightly in the same manner Connor’s do when he’s scanning something. Immediately after she reaches out a pale hand to rest on his shoulder, squeezing.

  
“I’ll get him”, she says quickly as she ushers Hank inside.

She’s off before the man can make out where she’s slipped away to, coming back in the next instance with Kamski who looks very much unamused.

His blue eyes roam up and down Connor’s prone form, the slight downwards curve his mouth twitches a bit before he pins those too bright eyes on Hank.

“Chloe tells me you’ve brought me a malfunctioning android,” he begins in a slow voice, one where he drags out the words to enunciate each syllable, “that RK800 no less”. At that, he sounds rather bored, but his eyes sparkle with that dangerous lit of curiosity and Hank has to steel himself from turning right back out the way he’s come.

“Give him to me,” a firm command at which Chloe steps forward and holds out her arms expectantly, gentle smile across her face.

“Don’t worry,” she says as Hank reluctantly moves Connor’s still body into her arms, “Elijah will take good care of him”.

Kamski makes an appreciative noise at that, bringing a hand up to his chin to tap at it before clasping both hands behind his back, “Feel free to wait here, Lieutenant,” he starts in that odd lilting voice of his, “I’ll have him up and running again in a few hours”.

And because Hank is the kind of man he is from experience. . .

“That’s it? No weird ass test I have to do to _prove_ myself to you?”

He asks the question that’s been steadily forming in his head.

The other man’s lips twitch, the corners coming up to form a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a few wordless steps backwards, turning on his heel with Chloe following him.

“Heavens no, Lieutenant”, Kamski begins fervently, “I would never do such a thing”.

He leaves through a door to his right, Chloe tailing behind and leaving Hank out in the foyer.

Kamski was too fucking weird for his own damn good.

-.-

All he sees at first is a tuft of brown hair sticking out from the top of a pair of hands pull at the fabric of the sweater. Bits of fall out of place, make it look like the one he’s staring at is entirely human what with how the strands of hair have it seem he’s just woken up from a deep sleep as opposed to almost dying. It’s better than that blonde it’d been when Hank had last seen him, suits him more than any other color because it’s warm and inviting just like he is.

He’s propped up on a cushioned operating chair, one that Hank doesn’t spend too much time looking at. Instead, his eyes trail over to Kamski, the man murmuring to himself as his eyes wander back and forth across the electronic pad in his hands.

In front of the man are various wires and lines that poke out from the back of a seamless, white counter, a few of which lay limply on the operating chair Connor is sitting on.

His eyes are those warm pools of molten honey and Hank feels a million things at once when Connor realizes he’s standing in the room. They light up instantly, though the spark in them is slightly muddled instead of blinding but Hank considers it beautiful nonetheless.

Fuck, when had he become so sappy?

Relief is an emotion he feels push its way to the forefront of his mind, and he takes three quick steps to Connor’s side and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank fuck that you’re all right,” he breaths out, “nearly gave me a fucking heart attack”.

Connor’s lips turn up at that, his smile reaching his eyes and it’s a look that’s almost too much for Hank to stare up into.

“Your concern is always appreciated, Hank”, Connor starts off his eyes wandering off to the window that has sunlight pouring through it, “it feels like I’ve been out for months”.

The words leave the android’s mouth in awed fascination, and then he turns those brown orbs back at Hank, “But I’m told I was only out for a few hours?”

“Yeah,” Hank starts slowly, his free hand curling into a loose fist, “just a few”.

The android hums softly at that, eyes narrowing slightly and then closing as he brings a hand up to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s startling human, a gesture Hank knows all too well because he’s done that very same thing when he’d wake up after one too many drinks.

“It just all seems,” Connor begins, his voice soft and sounding far off, like he’s standing yards away from him instead of sitting right in front of Hank, “to blur together”. The android’s hand falls from his face and his eyes flutter back open.

“It may just be something temporary,” Kamski speaks up from his spot, moving to stand next to Connor. He hands out the electronic pad to the android, finger hovering above the screen as he points out what he’d been looking at.

“It appears that your internal systems were attacked by a virus, whatever your assailant had concocted, they know the inner mechanics of my work and can override almost everything I’ve created”.

He speaks with that dangerous excitement in his eyes and the way he speaks, so nonchalantly about it all, drives Hank mad.

“Whatever has been injected into you has been rectified and overwritten, but for my part I’ve little”, he takes a step back and regards Connor and Hank carefully as if he’s looking in on one of his many science experiments, “whatever it is, it’s something you’ve done, I couldn’t have dragged you back from death so easily”.

“Dragged me back,” Connor whispers, finger running up and down the pad in his hand, eyes roaming over the data that Hank can hardly make out what it’s supposed to mean, “I. . .think I might have, yes”.

“What’s more is that whatever this, virus,” the man practically spits the word though his tone makes it sound like he’s dissecting the word rather than saying it with any true malice, “was meant to achieve it seems that it had the opposite affect”.

The android sets down the pad on his lap, head lifting up to stare up at the wall in front of him before turning to Hank. He gives the older man an inquisitive look, his eyes flicking back and forth as if searching for something.

Kamski makes another pleased noise, eyes narrowing slightly as he clasps his hands behind his back. “You’re both welcome to stay as long as you need,” he says offhandedly as he moves towards the door, “no need to rush”. He leaves without another word, leaving Hank and Connor to stare at one another.

There’s a stretch of silence, neither speaking, just merely looking. And on Connor’s part, he seems to really be trying to make sense of something.

“There was, a moment,” the android speaks up finally, the sun rising further into the sky and casting light on one side of Connor’s body, “a moment where I was ready to let go”. He casts his eyes down and off to the side, staring at Hank’s arm and his warm eyes have grown serious.

“What I felt,” he starts again as he keeps his eyes away from Hank’s, “was just dark and cold and heavy, holding me prisoner in my own body and I couldn’t call out for help”.

“But then,” at this he _does_ look at Hank, a streak of sun cascading across his face and covering half of it in its warmth, “I felt something familiar, something that wasn’t quite ready to let me leave, or rather, _someone_ ”.

“You saved me, Hank,” the weight of those words hitting both the android and Hank as they each let out a sharp breath, eyes diverting from one another but yet, finding their way back to stare into the other’s eyes.

It’s been so long since anyone has directed that open sort of affection at Hank, and he’s _still_ not accustomed to it. Not used to the way the android can so easily tear into him in the gentlest of ways, see how bruised and battered he was and _still_ regarded him so highly.

“So then,” he begins, the two words feeling thick and heavy in his throat, “are you, all right? Really?”

Once more, Connor considers this, his eyebrows coming down over his eyes before he carefully nods his head.

“Yes,” he begins thoughtfully, “I believe I am”, and then, “I was really only out for a few hours?” His eyes narrow in disbelief, lines creasing his forehead as he tilts his head to one side and then straightens it out again.

“Well,” Hank starts, trying to figure out a way to help Connor, “what do you remember?”

The android keeps his look of uncertainty plastered onto his face to which Hank lets out a huff of breath, “It’s a place to start at least”.

“Hm? Oh,” Connor’s lips turn at one side, the doubt clearing to make room for awkwardness, “I wasn’t belittling your suggestion I was just,” the android brings his arms up and wraps them loosely over one another, “trying to pinpoint exactly where my linear line of memories diverged into this,” he trails off and waves his hand in a vague gesture.

“Into this sort of collective mass, for lack of a better term”, again he offers the older man a half attempt at smiling, his eyes clouding over as he becomes lost in his own thoughts.

His lips purse, chin tucking into his chest slightly and hands falling down to his side to hang there limply as the older man stands in silence, simply watching.

“I think it’s all there,” Connor says softly after a few moments, “and there’s, something else, something that _did_ happen and feels real but,” he looks up at Hank, “it’s like it was just. . . a dream”.

The android’s eyes dart back and forth across Hank’s face, the intensity in them making the older man’s face hot.

And then suddenly, that intense look only deepens even as Connor’s eyes widen the brown in them disappearing slightly as his pupils dilate. The silence stretches out like a chasm and they’re afraid of taking one step forward for fear of not being followed by the other. It’s something Hank has thought about. Has thought that he’d be all right with whatever happened the day Connor got his memories back and when the android realized he didn’t really care for Hank the same way the older man did.

He was ready for that sting of rejection, he knew it so well by now that he instinctively moved away from Connor. Took a few steps back even as he felt his own heart beat madly against his chest in anticipation of what it was the android had remembered.

“The Gala. . .”, the android whispered, keeping his eyes pinned on Hank despite the older man trying to move away, “the night of the Gala”.

And then Connor’s suddenly swinging his legs off from the table, pushing himself upright and onto the ground. But his legs don’t obey, his knees knocking together and he almost crumples onto the floor, his only saving grace is the firm embrace of Hank’s arms around his waist.

“Woah, woah there,” Hank begins, clearing his throat, “what’s the hurry Connor?”

The android presses a hand to Hank’s chest, lets his fingers curl into the fabric of the older man’s shirt, “It’s Schmidt”, he starts to say and before Hank can get another word in, Connor’s trying to stand once again.

“He was _there_ , Hank, right under our noses”. Once more, his legs refuse to hold his weight and this time he does land on the ground, letting out a grunt and Hank growls out his disapproval.

“Would you just,” the older man starts before he’s helping Connor back onto his feet, pressing his chest so that the android stumbles back onto the operating table, “just sit still for one fucking minute, Jesus”.

Hank sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “What do you mean Schmidt was there? There was security outside, he couldn’t have just waltzed right in”.

“It’s true,” Connor begins as he settles himself back onto the operating table, his LED flashing from blue to yellow in a startling fast moment before it is pulsing blue once again, “but he was, he was that woman, Elizabeth Campwell”.

Hank blinks. Then blinks again. He can hear the sincerity in Connor’s voice, can see it written clearly on the android’s face but can’t quite make sense of it.

“You’re fucking with me,” he says, “Schmidt’s clearly a guy, so unless Elizabeth’s in cahoots with him—”

“No,” Connor interrupts him, brings his hands together as they start to fidget, “ _they’re one in the same_ ”.

The older man frowns, his arms coming to fold in front of his chest as he pins the android with a serious gaze of his own, the discomfort from just moments ago fading just as quickly as it had risen, “So you’re saying, that they’re the same person?”

Connor nods his head earnestly, eyes bright and wide as he waits for Hank to piece the rest of the information together.

“But how?” It’s the one thing Hank can’t quite seem to make fit into the puzzle, no matter how many times he tries to turn it around in his head, “How can they be the same?”

“I believe it’s because our suspect, Schmidt, is himself and android”.

Hank’s frown deepens, but he nods his head slowly, “And, you’re certain about this?”

“Yes,” Connor practically hisses out the word and Hank can almost feel the waves of intensity that are wafting off the android. It’s suddenly odd, to the conviction present in the android’s eyes, the look of absolute certainty when over the past few months Hank had seen nothing but uncertainty and apprehension.

It’s like a switch has been flipped on and suddenly Connor has become more aware of what’s happening. And part of Hank is thrilled at having his partner back, but the other is anxious to figure out where they now stand. Whether the Connor he’d opened a part of himself up to was still there and still felt the same because what he was looking at now was a face fixed with determination.

“We need to update Captain Fowler on the progress we’ve made,” the android begins quietly, his face softening around the edges into quiet contemplation, “we need to figure out Schmidt’s next step before he makes it”.

Hank lets out a snort, “You sure you can stand?”, he questions, raising an eyebrow at the android.

Connor gives out a small hum, running both his hands down the tops of his legs before looking up at Hank and giving his lips quirk up into a smile, “I think I manage with your help, if you’re willing”. He presses a hand to Hank’s shoulder and the older man only shakes his head.  
“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

He unfurls his arms and helps Connor rise from his spot, steadying him a hand on his back as the android responds, “I don’t, but neither do you”.

And Hank doesn’t have to look at his face to know that he’s practically beaming at him.

-.-

“Are you guys serious?”, comes Fowlers irritated voice, disbelief coloring his words and melding with the growing annoyance Hank can hear.

“Yeah,” he starts to say on an exhale, rubbing at his face tiredly, “positive”. His eyes find the top of Connor’s head, the android casually lounging on Hank’s couch with Sumo plastered against his right side. He’s drinking a thirium pouch Kamski had given him, one out of a handful just in case he’d need them in the future. Hank had though it’d be weirder seeing him drink something like that in front of him, but instead he just feels relief.

On the other end of the phone he hears Fowler sigh, a deep followed by the sounds of shuffling and a muffled voice.

“Well, all right then,” the Police Captain speaks after another stretch of silence, “we’ll regroup on Monday morning but for now, rest, you’ve earned it”.

Hank lets out a sigh of his own but nods his head before giving out a verbal response, “Yeah, sure thing Jefferey”.

He hears Fowler grumble angrily at him before he bids him farewell, leaving the sound of silence in his ear before he pockets his phone and moves to plop himself onto the recliner that sits to Connor’s right.

“I trust your conversation with Captain Fowler went smoothly,” Connor says after he drops the thirium pouch from his lips, “I know it’s quite a stretch in logical reasoning, but I hope he was able to discern that I was being sincere in my deduction”.

He looks at Hank with serious eyes, but the older man can see the bits of unease and takes note of the way the android’s hand sinks deeper into the thick fur of Sumo who remains unperturbed by the entire affair.

“It’s all fine, Connor,” Hank tries to reassure the android, “for now you’ve done your part and now what we have to do is wait for Monday to roll around”.

The android purses his lips, humming lightly before bringing the pouch back to his lips and taking a long drink.

  
“It might be far too late if we wait that long,” he says, “Schmidt has the ability to change his appearance at will and not only that but,” Connor casts his eyes briefly to one side before turning them back up to Hank.

“But he’s able to _be_ human, my scans weren’t able to differentiate him as being anything but human the night of the Gala”.

There’s a hint of annoyance filtering into Connor’s words and it’s enough to make Hank cock his head to the side. The android notices and seems to also catch himself after a few moments, mouth forming into a thin line before his other hand starts to pet Sumo slowly.

“Look,” Hank starts, “we’ve all been there before, sometimes the bad guys pull one out of thin air and catch us off guard”.

“The important thing is that we know when we need to back off and regroup, to figure out the bigger picture before going in guns blazing”.

Connor blinks at him a few times, his eyes coming up to stare up at the ceiling before trailing down the wall in an almost lazy approximation of an eye roll.

“I’ve read your file,” he begins as he turns back to stare at Hank looking incredibly unimpressed, “it seems you’ve spent quite a few years, ‘going in guns blazing’”.

“Yeah, and look where that’s led me,” Hank grumpily retorts back though there’s not much bite behind his words as there might have once been.

The android stops running his hand through Sumo’s fur, his face morphing into one of concern, “No I,” he starts, “I didn’t intend for that to upset you I just— “, Connor lets out a sigh and shifts in his seat slightly, “I just feel like I’m. . .behind, on everything”. He lets his hand fall from Sumo to rest in his lap, his eyes drawn down and away from Hank.

“I get that,” Hank says softly after a moment, and he truly means that. He’d been born long before the age where literally everything was digitized, it was getting harder and harder to find his favorite novels in actual print as opposed to being online only. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t grown up through the technological age per say, it was more to do that he didn’t _feel_ like he needed everything in his life to be so. . .instant, or so streamlined.

“But I know you, and I know you’re a competent person,” he starts again, leaning forward in his seat, “we just a bit of time to regroup is all, we’re by no means throwin’ in the towel”.

He tries giving Connor what he hopes is a reassuring smile, he’s still not confident in his ability in brining people’s sprits up after having been so far removed from his own feelings for so long. But there’s just always been something about Connor that always seems to drag him up out of his pessimism for the world around him.

Connor’s head snaps up in his direction, eyes slightly wide in disbelief and LED cycling from blue to yellow. It takes a few moments before the android is offering Hank his own small smile, the corners of his mouth pulling up hesitantly but the sincerity in the movement reaches his eyes and Hank knows that he’s at least trying.

“I’m. . .happy. . .”, Connor starts slowly, the words cautiously spilling from his lips as he maintains eye contact, “to know that you’ve been faring well in my absence, so to speak”.

It’s Hank’s turn to cast his eyes off to the side, his fingers curling into a loose fist before he relaxes them. He wouldn’t readily agree with that assessment, if he were the android. It’d been like living through a waking nightmare those first few days turned weeks and then months. Half a dozen times Hank had considered throwing in the towel and walking away from it all, just as he’d done with everything and everyone in his life. It was much easier to hide from the pain than to stare at it right in the face day after day.

But something inside of him, some small fractured part of the older man had refused to lay on the ground and accept the hand fate had dealt him. Some part of him deep down didn’t want to live in a world where he threw Connor into the merciless pit of humanity and have him swallowed whole like Hank had been.

“Yeah well,” he begins to grumble quietly as he turns his head back to look up at the android, “I’ve gotten a little better this last year, I guess”.

It’s true, and he means it. Hank doesn’t know where he’d be if it hadn’t been for Connor stumbling unexpectedly into his life and showing him that there was still hope for him.

The android smiles at him once again, the corners of his lips falter slightly however in his delivery of reassurance as his eyes twitch into narrow slits making it look like he’s been shocked by something.

“You all right?”, Hank questions as his eyes travel to Connor’s LED, watching at the blue fades away and yellow takes it place. There’s a brief instance of red that streaks through the yellow, but it quickly becomes absorbed.

It takes a few minutes of Connor pursing his lips together, hands twitching in his lap as he brings them together to fidget with them before that calm blue cycles back through.

“Sorry,” he begins, the word slowly falling from his mouth as he blinks his eyes a few more times, “it would appear my databanks of memory over the past few months are in conflict with what’s been already burned into my systems”.

There’s another pause, his eyes narrowing once more before he opens his mouth to speak, “It should correct itself out once I run a personal diagnostic on everything”.

Hank raises an eyebrow, “So, does that mean you’re gonna be able to keep everything? Or. . . what?” There’s a sliver of concern that laces his words, he’s not ready to let go of Connor now that he’s gotten his memories back.

“My memories shall remain intact,” the android starts off with a small smile, “everything is trying to vie for my attention at the current moment, so it’s admittedly hard to make sense of what’s current and what isn’t”.

“That so,” Hank muses, the words falling from his quietly and meant to be more for himself than to be anything directed at Connor but the android hums in agreement regardless.

“That’s good then,” the older man goes on to say as he leans back in his chair, “It’d be uh, be unfortunate to uh— “, he waves his hand in the air and then places it onto the back of his neck. He’s not really sure where he was planning on going with that sentence, in all actuality. What? Did he honestly think that him saying, “boy, that sure be fucked up if you lost your memories _again_ huh?”, would do any good?

And sure, Hank _would_ find that to be pretty fucked up but, he has an inkling suspicion that Connor’s already well aware of that. After all, it was the android himself who had inflicted this weird sort of amnesia onto himself in the first place. And all to save some washed up cop like himself, what a waste it’d be to have that happen twice.

Hank realizes that he has yet to tack on anything else to his sentence and he nervously bites the inside of lip, creating small indents in the sensitive flesh. But it’s Connor who nods his head wordlessly, eyes flickering down to his hands that he continues to fidget with.

“I. . . understand that all this has caused. . .undue stress,” the last two words leave the android in a hurried rush that’s uncharacteristic of him and it has Hank shifting in his seat and sitting on the edge of his chair.

“It was, unfair, what I did. . .in the moment it simply felt. . .”, Connor lifts his head up to stare up at an unknown spot on Hank’s ceiling, _“right. . .”_. The android’s face suddenly falls, his lips curling upwards in a sort of disgruntled scowl, but it comes off as looking more confused to Hank than anything else. It also doesn’t help the sinking feeling he gets in his gut suddenly when Connor remains silent, staring up at the ceiling.

That feeling is still very much alive, buried, but alive inside of Hank. It reared its ugly head during those first few months as he grappled with his new reality and the implications it would have moving forward. It’s something he’d felt night after night during those first few months where he and Connor had been thrown together in an effort to snuff out the growing deviancy in androids. Nights where the only comfort he could find from the ever-encroaching darkness was spinning the chamber of his gun and pulling the trigger, desperately wishing for the sweet relief of death.

Hank knows better now though, but it’s still hard to view his life as something worth living, something that deserves the company both Connor and Sumo give him. He has yet to step foot in the cemetery where Cole’s body is buried in sober fashion, hell, as the thought flits through his mind, Hank can’t even remember the last time he’d even _bothered_ going down to visit. Drunk or otherwise.

It’d been easier to cast aside his own well-being since there hadn’t really been anyone else who could drag him from the inky depths of despair that he’d once been content to wade through for the rest of his life. But now, there was someone else, someone who cared for him enough to genuinely feel distraught at the notion of possibly leaving him in such a fashion but had seemingly seen no other option.

And he was _far_ from the person to be handling this sort of conversation, especially since he had yet to really delve into the root of his own issues. But that was just it, Connor always managed to make him feel like he _could_ tackle those demons he was just barely able to keep at bay. By seeing someone else struggling with something just as dark and uncertain, no matter what the context behind it was, it always made Hank want to try. And that was something he still wasn’t quite used to yet, no matter how many times he tried to look at it.

But still, despite it all, it seemed his thoughts always trailed back to Connor as he tried to imagine the advice the android would not doubt give him. It was still weird having someone like that around, but it was a small step in the right direction. He could just feel it, even if it the emotion was fleeting at the best of times.

“It’s. . .not your fault,” he began in a deep voice, surprised by the knot he could feel building in his throat and he took in a deep breath to steady the sudden beating his heart was doing in his chest.

Connor’s head tilts to one side even as he keeps it angled up towards the ceiling, those brown eyes sliding down to stare at Hank with the most forlorn expression Hank thinks he’s ever seen come from the android. He wants to say more, to continue on with where he’d left off with his statement, but the look Connor fixes him with causes the words to lodge in his throat and he has to wrestle with the insatiable urge to turn his head away.

“How can it not be?”, Connor says after another moment, the words sounding like they’re heavy weights and the android’s struggling to keep them coherent for the other man to make sense of them.

“Sometimes. . .it feels right at the time but then, you find out that it’s not what you thought it’d be like. . .”. Hank lets out a withering sigh, running a hand through his shorter hair and leaning forward before he’s getting up and plopping himself down next to Connor on the couch.

“I knew it wasn’t what you’d wanted to do,” he begins quietly, making direct eye contact with the android, “I know that you’re one stubborn son of a bitch so,” Hank scratches the bridge of his nose as a nervous laugh escapes his lips, “so really, it’s not your fault, Connor”.

He’s rewarded with a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach the android’s eyes, but Hank realizes that Connor’s at last starting to listen to him.

“Still. . .”, the android begins softly, turning his body to fully face Hank, “I’m sorry to have left”.

Hank reaches out a hand, wrapping it around the android’s own that still rest in his lap. They’re surprisingly warm, something he wouldn’t have considered possible once upon a time. Back when he’d believed that the machines walking around were as cold on the inside as they appeared on the outside.

How quickly it seemed that Connor had turned that very belief on its head.

“It’s all right, just— “, he pauses to suck in a breath through teeth that he inadvertently clenches, steadying himself, “just don’t try and pull that shit again, okay?”

This time when Connor smiles, his eyes light up and look like pools of coffee that’s been splashed with milk.

“I won’t,” those bright eyes flit down to where Hank’s hands are still covering his and he turns them, so he can grip them tightly, that warmth that’s radiating off of him travels through his hands and spreads through Hank’s body and pulls him in effortlessly that it has the older man closing his eyes.

It isn’t until he opens them again that he realizes that he’s pulled Connor in close, wrapping his arms around the android. He wrestles with the urge to suddenly tear himself away, but he manages to keep himself pressed against Connor, who slowly raises his own arms to wrap them just as tightly around him.

“Jesus,” Hank breathes out on a rushed exhale, “I almost thought I’d completely lost you”.

“Not quite,” Connor whispers, his breath ghosting across the side of his neck as the android presses his face against the flesh there that’s marred by age, “but it was rather, uncomfortably close”.

Hank lets out a short bark of laughter, shaking his head as he slowly pulls himself away from Connor, so he can look the android head on. “You’re telling me, what the hell even made you consider _doing_ that?”

He couldn’t quite come straight out with the proper words since mentioning the mere word suicide still sent a sharp shiver down Hank’s spine and still caused that ever-lurking darkness to crawl closer towards him.

Thankfully, or rather unfortunately—it was honestly hard to tell as the soft edge to Connor’s smile faltered slightly and the warmth in his eyes dimmed considerably—the android sighed and nodded his head, eyes casting off and away from Hank.

“It’s rather complicated, but,” Connor continues to hesitate, eyes darting back and forth as they continue to stare downwards, “all androids are built and designed with specific AI programming meant to help guide and direct us should we need it”.

“This is especially true with the line of active policing androids; our AI are crucial in organizing and filing information on a real time basis with prompts to further any and all investigations no matter the scope”.

“So,” Hank begins with a brow raised, “it’s like you’ve got a built in, _handler_?” The word doesn’t sit quite right with him, just the mere thought of having to report to someone within your own headspace is infinitely worse than having to trudge his way over to Jeffery’s office every time someone in the bullpen pisses him off. At least at work, Hank can leave his boss behind and talk as much shit as he wants, but he’s not so sure that that’s how it works for androids.

“Yes,” Connor starts off again without missing a beat though, he has yet to bring his eyes back up to meet Hank’s, “similar though, different in certain aspects to how you and Detective Reed check in with Captain Fowler”.

“Though I am just a prototype RK model, my AI had been forged ahead of time and created in such a manner as to grow and change overtime in order to accommodate this”. Connor continues on as he slowly pulls further away from Hank, gaze still down and he brings his hands to rest neatly in his lap. Though, the older man doesn’t miss the way the tips of his fingers seemingly twitch without his consent.

“As a result, each AI paired with an RK model is completely unique and can each one can have vastly different patterns of speech and temperament,” his eyes finally shoot up to catch Hank’s gaze quickly as he adds, “they are a reflection of the RK unit they’ve been created with, a peek into the very core of what makes us up”.

  
Hank furrows his brow. “What are trying to imply, Connor? That, your _AI thing_ is who you are? Because I can already tell you that it’s a bunch of bullshit”.

That causes Connor to let out a small laugh, but it sounds more like a gust of air rather than a true laugh, and when the android looks away from him, Hank swears he can see the bitter resemblance of self-loathing on Connor. It’s in the way his mouth turns downwards, almost a frown but looking more like a scowl than anything, and how his hands twitch once again to form loose fists.

It’s worrying.

“Hey now,” he starts, raising a hand in the air slightly, “I’m not going to think about you any differently, or— “.

“But I almost. . .I could have— “, Connor interrupts Hank midsentence, the half-formed argument falling from his lips shakily, _“killed you”._

It’s not the first time those words are uttered by Connor, he’s heard them once before a while back. Back when Hank had thought that his new normal in life was going to be putting down the memory of who Connor _had_ been and who he was _going_ to be since that cursed evening.

“But you didn’t”, he gently whispers, his hand still hovering before he slowly lowers it down to cover Connor’s now quivering fists, “ _I knew_ that it wasn’t you that night, deep down, _I knew_ that you’d never do anything to outright hurt me”.

Another breathy laugh that sounds more like a tired sigh a mother would give her wayward child, “I couldn’t risk it”. Connor’s voice breaks on the last word, something Hank has never heard from the android before and one that sends a cold shiver down his spine. But not out of fear, rather, it’s out of anger and it’s all Hank can do to keep his emotions in check.

Connor’s LED is pulsing a bright red, no doubt he’s already scanned Hank and knows that the older man is biting his tongue as he tries to maintain his composure, and it only seems to be adding fuel to the self-deprecating flame that’s been ignited inside of the android.

“At first, I thought. . .I thought everything was normal, for a lack of a better word,” Connor starts again in an almost breathless manner, the words tumbling from his mouth in a stuttering manner.

“I looked to my AI as a comforting source of direction and guidance, something that I could turn to in order to assess my surroundings at the time of our first meeting and those that came after”. Connor leans his body into the cushions of the couch, his gaze trailing down and away from Hank once more, his lips parting open slightly like he means to say more but gets caught up in what’s surely rushing through his mind.

“But it wasn’t until _I_ started deviating from my mission that. . .everything began to steadily change and yet,” he pauses and narrows his eyes, mouth turning down into a sour frown, “some part inside of me just wanted to continue to please her, to make sure I stayed in her good graces and continued to seek her favor”.

“And it was _because_ of my ignorance that I. . .I just kept trying to please her until I finally started gaining my own piece of mind,” Connor lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, “it was something she couldn’t abide by but allowed me to believe otherwise”.

Hank shifts in his seat slightly, moving himself closer towards Connor, “You keep saying, “she”, your AI was some woman? A girl?”

Connor narrows his eyes in thought, lips pulling down around the corners. “Do you remember the first time we visited Elijah Kamski’s residence?”

Again, Hank shifts in seat, a shiver running down his spine at the thought of Kamski and his eccentric ways. The older man very much preferred to keep his memories of the other man sealed and locked away, there’s was just something about him that always put Hank out of sorts when around him.

“Unfortunately,” Hank decides to say at last, “why?” He adds on as he raises on eyebrow, intrigued nonetheless about where Connor’s going with this.

“There was a picture,” Connor begins, hesitance coming across crystal clear, “of Kamski’s mentor, and her name was Amanda Stern”. Once again, the android trails off, his voice quiet as he says the woman’s name. His eyes gaze off to one side again and this close to him, Hank can see the lenses that make up the android’s eyes expand and contract as he continues to stare off into space.

“They were apparently very close, and Kamski was devastated when Amanda passed away,” Connor slowly blinks as he continues on, “and as such, in order to preserve her memory, he created an AI and modeled it after her”.

“And so, she’s like,” Hank’s mind runs blank for several seconds and he waves his hand in the air in a vague gesture as he tries to gather the correct string of words in order to make himself be understood.

“This AI, she’s like, the same for _all_ of you? Or did Kamski only dump a robotic version of his teacher inside of _you_?”

It sounds rather crude, now that he’s said it without having the proper time to really mull it over, but Hank’s just genuinely confused and wanting to understand. Though, he supposes that he should’ve expected that if it had to do with Kamski.

“I can’t be certain about the inner workings of another model’s AI, it’s something that doesn’t transfer across despite when we interface”, Connor says as a soft sigh slips past his lips, “but I can only surmise that there may in fact be varying degrees of differences between them”.

“And I don’t know if this was true for all of the RK800 prototypes Cyberlife had lined up but,” Connor’s voice tapers off a bit towards the end, and Hank leans in a little further towards him.

“But,” the android continues on, “the Amanda _I_ had come to know just always seemed to be, different. . .and like I said, I always felt the compelling need to seek out her praise and complete my mission”.

That look of self-deprecation flashes across Connor’s face once again, the lenses of his eyes contracting as he quickly turns his head off to the side, baring his LED that’s flashing a blinding yellow.

“And again, once I started deviating, she just. . .”, Connor lets out a disgruntled little noise from the back of his throat, a sound Hank can only surmise as exasperation.

“She wasn’t going to stop unless she had it _her_ way and she couldn’t allow me to walk around freely once I had broken through. I don’t know if she had somehow gained more sentience from my deviating or, if that line of responses had been _meant_ for me to eventually follow so they could destroy the android rebellion from the inside out”.

A brief instance of red slices through the spiraling yellow light, almost like a bolt of lightning across an otherwise dark sky. Hank had gotten better at flicking his eyes up at the LED every now and then to make sure he can somehow gauge Connor’s mental state.

“Amanda never wanted to show her entire hand, but the more I began to prod, the more inevitable it became that she was going to have to do something. . . _drastic_ ”.

There’s another brief flicker of red and yet another sigh from Connor before he looks up at Hank with remorse and it’s all the older man can do to keep himself from being swept up in that grief and drown once more.

“I never would have betrayed the trust you and I had built, Hank, and I apologize that I didn’t catch on sooner as this wouldn’t have happened if I had just been less naïve”.

“Now look here,” Hank begins in a slightly gruff tone before clearing his throat, “I’ve already told ya that I knew that wasn’t you doing that shit that night, all right?” He raises an eyebrow at the android, tips his chin a bit lower as he would do to a petulant child, but he tries to keep the edge out of his next words, so Connor can better decipher them for what they are.

“I’m just happy that you’re fucking _safe_ ,” the word makes his throat clench up and he has to take in a stuttering breath to steady himself, “I thought I was the one loosing you”.

  
There’s such a raw sincerity in those words that it _still_ manages to knock some of the breath from his lungs and must’ve come across clear as day to Connor because the android’s eyes have widened slightly.

Hank feels like he should be passed the point of feeling butterflies in stomach every time Connor fixes him with one of those stares that almost seem to be able to penetrate the layers of muscle and tissue and into his very being. A stare that says a thousand different things at once, the most prominent of which Hank faces head on.

_Love._

He hasn’t thought the word in its entirety in so many years now, so many that Hank thought he’d become incapable of ever loving anyone as much as he loved his ex-wife and Cole.

But now, life has seen fit to give him a second chance, a chance Hank feels he’d be stupid to pass up and for once, doesn’t mean it to be so bitter either. He wants whatever this is he’s creating with Connor. Hank wants it so desperately that he feels like a younger man, a younger man back in the earlier days of his career where he had women swooning after him whenever he’d walk down the street in full uniform.

“I mean that”. Hank’s mouth moves on its own before his mind is able to catch up with the words tumbling from him.

Something flickers across Connor’s face in that moment. It’s gone the moment Hank manages to realize the slight wrinkle that forms between the android’s eyebrows. In its place is something incredibly open yet nervous, something that has Hank draw himself closer towards Connor.

“I thought I was going to lose you, too” Connor says after a few moments, eyes shining with warmth and an affection so blatant it has Hank sucking in a sharp breath. “The moment you had that gun pressed against your skull I realized that I truly cared for you, and feared you were going to be ripped away from me”.

He feels it again, the stirring emotion deep inside his chest that travels down towards his stomach that’s always made Hank want to crawl away from the world and hide.

It’s been years since he’s heard such sincerity come from another person’s mouth and yes, to him, Connor is more human than the ones who’ve made their debut naturally. More human than the ones who’d thrown knives and daggers at him with their callous words and thoughtless well-wishes.

To him, Connor is the beacon of light that dove headfirst into the darkness with him. Grabbed him by the hand and dragged him back towards the surface, to fill his lungs with air that wasn’t as heavy before and truly _live_. The android is much more than just a machine, he’s become someone Hank couldn’t imagine living without.

“In that moment,” Connor continues on, “Everything I’d been feeling, everything I’d been experiencing, suddenly made sense”. His lips quirk up in the softest of smiles and he brushes a thumb over the back of Hank’s hand, “I realized that I’d do anything to protect you”.

“Which is why I. . .turned the gun on myself that night”. The smile slips from his lips, the warmth bleeding away around the edges of Connor’s eyes. “I knew that if Cyberlife meant to take control of me, no good would come from it. And I couldn’t risk throwing you into the line of fire for something I didn’t see coming”.

That draws a heavy sigh from Hank, one that he exhales loudly through his nose. So, he unravels his hands from Connor’s and places them firmly against either side of the android’s head, cradling his head gently as his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into his temples.

“I’ve already told you, I don’t blame you for what happened, if anything, _I’m_ the one who should be sorry,” he quickly runs his tongue over his lips, “shoulda never let myself drink so much while playing Russian Roulette”.

He flicks his gaze away from Connor, his grip on the android’s head loosening slightly but becomes firm once more when he feels Connor shift. He presses his own slender fingers onto the side of Hank’s face and holds him there.

Piercing coffee colored eyes staring into the icy depths before them.

“I wasn’t there for you then,” Connor quietly says, his gaze remaining focused on Hank, “but I’d like to be from now on, if you’d have me”.

There’s an odd flicker in the android’s eyes as he says those last words, almost like what happened to humans when they were uncertain or felt as if they’d overstepped. Hank would have found it laughable because honestly, Connor feeling like he’s overstepped was an understatement of the century. But instead, Hank finds himself to be utterly speechless. He tries to rack his mind for the appropriate response but keeps coming up empty handed.

So instead, he drops his hands from Connor’s face and pulls him in close. Wraps his arms around the android’s body and breathes in the distinct scent that’s begun to cling to Connor. A mix of well-worn leather with the remnants of smoke along with the barest hint of soap.

“Just, promise me you won’t try and pull that shit again”, he manages to finally say as he turns his face into the crook of Connor’s neck.

He feels the android’s chest rumble, feels his shoulders shake lightly before he can feel the press of hands wrapping around his body.

“You have my word, Hank”.


End file.
